


FICMAS 2019 - "i don't live here, but let's pretend i do"

by jay (tofupofu)



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Bad Science, Eddie Lives, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Ficmas, Ficmas 2019, Fluff, Gen, Georgie Lives, Hanukkah, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, M/M, Multi, One Shot Collection, Other, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Stan Lives, just normal hurt/comfort too but it'll show up in the tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:01:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 23,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21634816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tofupofu/pseuds/jay
Summary: 31 prompts, one for each day in December. It's all IT themed, but not all winter themed. Chapter warnings listed in the notes at the beginning of each chapter. Each chapter is going to be ~500 words, but I make no promises.Prompts, ships, and individual chapter ratings are in the chapter titles. The whole fic is rated M but most of the chapters are T.
Relationships: Beverly Marsh/Audra Phillips, Beverly Marsh/Richie Tozier, Bill Denbrough & Richie Tozier, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon/Ben Hanscom/Eddie Kaspbrak/Beverly Marsh/Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, The Losers Club/The Losers Club (IT)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 69





	1. Stan lives! (Gen - M)

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for this chapter include: referenced suicide attempt, PTSD, hospitals, and guilt.

They visit Stan in the hospital after it happens. He’s laying there, has been for three days. He’s got bandages on his arms, up to the elbows. He’s facing away from them when they come in, all hunched in on himself.

Nobody knows what to say. It’s hard, of course it’s hard, to do much of anything now.

“Do you remember?” Bill croaks eventually, sitting on the bench by the window. He meets Stan’s eyes, and he regrets it, because they’re staring into nothing.

Stan nods. “I didn’t--and then suddenly, I did. I remember everything.”

Bill’s hands reach forward, like they’re trying to grab hold of Stan’s, but his hands are covered in IV tape and the heart monitor and Bill’s hands stutter and draw back. The room is desolate and the only sound is wet sniffles and the lack of voices.

Mike sits next to Bill. Everyone can hear it when Bev starts actually crying, burying her face in Ben’s chest, or maybe Richie’s, or Eddie’s. “Please, don’t,” Stan begs, chest heaving like it always does before he starts crying too.

“Don’t what?” Bill says, “Don’t cry because our best friend tried to kill himself? Don’t cry because you’re hurting and we didn’t know and there’s nothing we could have done about it?”

Stan cracks and sobs. Bill really does take his hand, this time, the one with the IV in it. There’s nothing attached to the needle, so it looks a little funny, and it’s very stiff.

Bill chokes up, head bowing until his hair is touching the back of Stan’s hand. Mike wraps his arms around Bill’s shoulders, drawing him in. There’s a beat where everybody cries, happy and sad all at once. It’s the worst family reunion Stan’s ever been to.

“I’m sorry,” Stan says, because this is all his fault.

“You don’t have to be,” Mike says, from his infinite wisdom, from the warmth that radiates from his very being, “It scared all of us. It’s not your fault it got to you.”

“I just--” Stan draws in a breath, “Every time I looked in the mirror, I would see the scars. The ones around my face. Patty never saw them, but every time we’d pass little kids on the street, they’d stare. I could see them. They would point at my face.”

Bill’s hand starts rubbing patterns on Stan’s. “And--and when I’d dream, I’d see her. I’d see her face open up over mine, start to swallow me, and it’d feel like I was floating again--”

“I know,” Bev says, “I know, baby, I know.”

She’s at his back, not in the bed with him, exactly, but wrapping her arms around him and placing her head on his shoulder.

The others join, too, around him, on the foot of his bed and in the chair by Bev’s. They’re all touching him, and he’s shaking, too overwhelmed to think.

“Please don’t go,” Stan says, voice barely a whisper.

“Never again,” Someone promises, and it doesn’t matter who, because they all mean it.


	2. Eddie lives! (Reddie - T)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is really richie-centric and deals with the turtle bringing eddie back. i didn't have enough space to really write eddie any, y'know, dialogue or anything, so it is an eddie lives au in the least eddie-involving sense. many apologies. chapter warnings include canon-typical violence and like 3 lines of a hospital scene.

When they kill It, Pennywise, there’s this moment. Where everything rises off the floor--it starts with the blood. The water, the grime of the cave, all rises to the ceiling, and then Bev’s hair rises too, and they’re all floating, except the clown corpse. It doesn’t feel… _bad_ , or anything. It feels--it feels like when you’ve jumped a great distance into a lake (the lake by the quarry) and your feet touch the bottom and before you start to kick up (to swim with them) you let the water bring you gently upwards, like you’re being reborn. It’s almost like that.

Richie doesn’t see it, though. Not really. All he can see is Eddie’s body start to float too. Start to join them. He still looks limp, and blood floats lazily upwards off his chest.

“Please,” Richie begs in a moment of pure sincerity and vulnerability, “Please. I can’t--you know I can’t--”

Richie’s tears float upwards too. The others are looking at him--to the best of their ability--as Richie’s hands come up to his face and he sobs. Bill’s hand finds him and they come together, hugging, drifting gently through the air. Half of the original Losers.

 _Much has been lost_ , a booming voice says. Richie didn’t know where it was coming from, and from the way the others reacted, neither did they. For a brief, horrible moment Richie wondered if it was just another of Pennywise’s tricks. _I feel for you._

“Ple-ease!” Richie cries, desperate, clawing out at the voice.

 _I know what you want, child,_ it says, and Richie realizes it’s coming from inside his own head. Bill’s hands smooth Richie’s hair, and he holds him, and Richie feels at once ancient and so, so young.

“I loved him!” Richie says, like it makes any difference in how dead Eddie is. Someone else crashes into them, a Bev-shaped someone, and she grabs onto Richie’s ankle and draws the Richie-Bill blob into her.

 _You all loved him,_ the voice says back, _but it was special. The love you had for him._

Then, the voice says what Richie had been begging for the whole time. _I can bring him back._

“How?” Bev asks, voice cracked and trembling. Richie wonders who else has been crying.

“What do we need to do?” Richie puts in his two cents because he would die to be with Eddie again.

_Trust me._

They all slam back onto the ground.

When Richie comes to, he’s floating again. In front of him is a turtle, he thinks this must be The turtle. It looks at once to be everything and nothing. Around him are the stars, twinkling for him.

“I trust you,” Richie says, even though his heart is thudding in his chest and he’s pretty sure he’s having seven panic attacks at once right now. He reaches forward to touch, and the skin that greets him is neither warm nor cold, but comforting all the same. The turtle eyes him not unkindly. It does not open its mouth to speak.

 _You will all live happy lives,_ comes from Richie’s head again, _Truly happy ones, now. I do not require much in return, except for one thing._

“Anything,” Richie says, eyes wide, “Name it.”

 _You must find those unhappy children,_ the turtle leans into Richie’s touch, _The ones just like yourselves. Spend your lives spreading kindness, and love, and truth. Do not let the injustices you faced repeat themselves._

Richie’s hand falters. “You want us to… be parents? That's our end of the bargain?”

 _There are so many kids who would give anything for a warm meal._ Richie suddenly sees himself, thirteen again, rifling through the cupboards and the pantry and the fridge and not turning up anything. The fridge isn’t even on. There’s nothing but booze and Richie feels sick to his stomach looking at it. _You know that. There are kids who would give anything for a little freedom, for a parent who truly loved them, for a second chance. Is that not what you wanted then, and what you want now?_

“It’s a deal,” Richie sighs, because he really has no choice, “Are you telling the others, or do I have to?”

 _They are all making their own deals,_ the turtle has a gleam in his eye, mischievous but still kind, _They are all making this deal. For Eddie, for Stan. For the ones that died this week. All that death unsettled the world, but it takes promise to make it right._

“I promise,” Richie nods, brow furrowed, “I promise that I will never let another kid go hungry when I know they don’t have food again. As long as I can see Eddie and hold him and be his friend again.”

The turtle looks a little sad. _You are in an ambulance right now. You all are. I will tell you when there is someone you need to help. You are not, and will never be your parents. Tell the others that they are better than their parents, too. They are better than the bad times._

Richie nods again, a little dumbly, feeling at a loss for words for the first time in his entire life.

_He loves you too._

Richie wakes up on a gurney, being wheeled through the halls by a panicked-sounding medical staff. His arm throbs.

“It’s okay,” One of them says, “Just close your eyes, go back to sleep.”

Richie slips away.


	3. Georgie lives! (Gen - T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW for this chapter: Georgie's Arm Injury.

The clown scuttles away, like a frightened crab, into the hole in the ground. With no intention of following it, the losers turn to Bill, who is curiously watching the bodies.

“Th-th-they look suh-so peace-peace-peaceful,” Bill says, but they know he’s looking. Bev’s hand rests on his shoulder.

“He’s gone, Bill,” She says, like she’s talking to a wounded animal. Bill’s eyes, though, land on what they were looking for. The others follow his eyes to a boy floating on his back, one arm missing, wearing a little yellow raincoat.

“No!” He shouts, climbing up onto the giant mountain of _things_. Of bats and barbed wire and Eddie’s eyes immediately see everything that could kill him. When Eddie reaches out, though, tries to wrap his hands around Bill’s ankle, Bill lashes out, knocking Eddie right across the face.

“I’m sorry!” Bill says, climbing higher, “But I need to bring him home!”

They watch, helpless, as Bill finds foothold after foothold. The pile doesn’t look structurally sound, but he hasn’t fallen yet.

“How are you going to climb down?” Stan yells, voice high-pitched with anxiety. Bill doesn’t answer. Instead, he slips on a wet piece of plastic, hanging by his hands from some poor kid’s old bicycle. Eddie screams and covers his eyes.

Bill regains his footing and he’s almost at the top and he’s parallel with Georgie. Bill tries to reach for him, but he’s too far out, and Bill almost falls again. He turns, and leans back on his haunches.

“You better not be about to do what it looks like you’re about to do!” Stan yells, suddenly turning desperate, “Bill! Bill! Stop!”

But it’s too late. Bill takes off, feet leaving the old rocking horse and flying through the air. He grabs onto Georgie, and he hugs him close.

It takes him a few seconds to realize he’s not falling. Well, he is, sort of. It’s gentle, a like a leaf falling in the autumn. Bill holds Georgie to his chest and cries.

“I’ve got you,” Bill mutters, hands on Georgie’s cold, colorless face, “I can bring you home now. I cuh-cuh-can be a good big brother.”

His feet land on the ground, but they feel like they’re filled with jelly, and Bill collapses. Georgie’s in his arms, still, face in Bill’s shoulder, and Bill falters. He pulls Georgie back to look at him. Georgie’s arms, his hair, they’re still floating. He’s just in Bill’s arms now.

“Come back!” He begs, and Georgie doesn’t respond. The others crowd around him, hands on his shoulders, holding him in the center. “Come back!”

“You have to kiss him,” Ben points out, like it’s obvious. Bill nods, placing kisses all over Georgie’s face.

 _Kiss._ “Come back.” _Kiss._ “Mom and Dad haven’t been the same.” _Kiss._ “Georgie!”

Georgie blinks. His feet hit the ground. And then he screams, and his arm starts to bleed again.

Eddie rushes to take off his shirt and press it to the arm. “It’s gonna soak through. We need to get him to a hospital _right now_ Bill we need to go _now_ \--”

They take off, carrying Georgie between them. It’s agonizingly slow and Eddie has an asthma attack before they even reach the rope. By the time they see sunlight, outside the Neibolt house, he’s stopped wailing, but he’s still whimpering every time they jostle the arm. Bill tells Georgie how sorry he is about three times a second. They let him.

The ambulance ride is… rough. But they get Georgie to the hospital, and he’s taken care of and he’s alive.

They hold Bill more that night when he’s told to go home. He doesn’t--he goes to the Hanlon’s farm, where he knows they’ll all be. He cries and they hold him and Bill feels all of thirteen years old. He feels young, he feels broken.

“Wh-wh-wh-what ih-ih-ih-if this duh-duh-duh-doesn’t fuh-fuh-fix th-th-th-th-things?” He asks, barely able to speak for his stutter. They don’t have an answer for him. But they keep their hands on his shoulders, around his waist, in his hands. Maybe he doesn’t need an answer, as long as he has them.


	4. Soulmate AU. (Poly Losers - G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one's uh. not great. i had a migraine today so i'm gonna go to bed without rereading it or editing too heavily so. it's not fantastic. CW for eddie's mom, it's not too explicit in the text but she's a pos

Eddie’s six years old when he understands that he can never have a soulmate. His momma says so, and everything his momma says is right. She just wants to protect him from the heartache that having a soulmate can bring.

“When they hurt, you hurt twice as bad,” She reminds him, helping him make cookie dough, “When they leave you, when they die, you never feel the same. You can still see the colors, but it’s like you’re living a world of black and white again. And, anyway, they’d take you away from me, and we can’t have that, can we, Eddie-bear?”

“Of course, momma,” Eddie smiles, pouring in the chocolate chips.

He’s eight when his mom sends him to school. He learns that every boy has a soulmate, a girl, and every girl has a soulmate, a boy. It’s all very romanticized.

“When you find your soulmate, the world blooms with color,” Their teacher says on  _ Soulmate Day _ , the day after Valentine’s, a holiday that Eddie still finds himself at school for. He should’ve just told his mom he’d had a stomach ache. Nobody really wants to talk to him because he’s new, and weird, and whenever he complains about it to his mom she says  _ see? They can never love you like I do _ . Eddie, for the most part, believes her.

It doesn’t make him less lonely when he sees two boys playing together at recess. They’re both tall, one with straight auburn hair and the other with wild black curls. They’re playing something boisterous, messy, in the grass and mud of early spring. Eddie’s chest aches from where he’s sitting on the bench, reading a book. He wants to play, but his momma will get mad if he’s dirty.

The one with black hair tackles the other to the ground, letting out a gigantic, boisterous, enchanting laugh, and Eddie’s world lights up. The sky turns the most marvelous color he’s ever seen, bright and magnificent. There’s still a lot of grey, more than Eddie realized, but then he thinks that the boy is his soulmate and he knows this isn’t how it’s supposed to happen and he’s having an asthma attack, clutching at his chest, wheezing. The cold air must have set it off.

The nurse gives him his inhaler to suck on, but then she does something curious. She takes a light and looks into his eyes, shows him a palette. It’s the same one that’s always been there, but one or two of the colors look different.

“Can you tell me what these colors are?” She asks.

“Um--” Eddie points to the brightest one, “Is that… green?”

“No, blue,” She says, but she’s smiling, “Green is here.”

“That’s grey,” Eddie shakes his head, “They’re all grey, except for this one.”

“Eddie,” The nurse’s smile fades, “None of them are grey.”

After that, and Eddie telling the nurse that he heard a boy laugh, they decide it’s not really his soulmate. Must be some fluke or side-effect of some medication he’s taking. Eddie thinks it’s not supposed to hurt like this, to find out someone isn’t your soulmate.

He takes it upon himself to meet the boy anyway. So the next day during recess, he walks up to him. He’s with the auburn-haired boy again, but this time there’s also another boy with curly hair. They seem a lot more subdued today.

“Hi! I’m Eddie,” Eddie says, trying to smile. It comes across as a grimace.

“Hi Eddie! I’m Richie,” Eddie’s Not-Soulmate says, “We’re about to play Egyptian Rat Screw. Do you know how to play?”

Bill and Stan introduce themselves, too, and Egyptian Rat Screw turns out to be a game that’s fun, but the back of Eddie’s hands turn red after being slapped by Richie every single time he goes for the pile.

“Do you have  _ any _ self-control?” Eddie snaps, not quite meaning it. They all burst into laughter--beautiful, wonderful laughter.

More color fades in--the swingset, the grass, the rocks on the ground. It’s red and green, although Eddie doesn’t know it yet.

“Woah,” Eddie says, staring at his hands. They’re not grey any more.

“What?” Bill asks, eyes wide, “Do you see colors?”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes, trying not to cry. He’s scared--and he doesn’t know what it means. 

“Well, now we have to get you to laugh, to see if we see them too,” Richie says, as close to sage as Richie ever gets, and then he descends upon Eddie, fingers wiggling on his stomach. Eddie shrieks, writhing and finally, breaking into giggles as he kicks Richie off.

The three of them stop, and Eddie watches Richie’s pupils dilate. When they draw back, there’s an extra gleam in his eye. “You are!”

“I am?” Eddie asks, trying to wrap his head around this.

“Listen,” Bill says, “I--uh--my parents left some books laying around and I found one about weird soulmates. Apparently, boys can have boy soulmates, and some people even have more than one!”

They then dissolve into an argument about whether that means girls can have girl soulmates, until Richie and Bill are called in for class, and then Stan leaves too.

They stick together, though. It’s like there’s glue sticking them to each other.

There’s more color, although they don’t know it yet. Eddie thinks maybe they’re just meant to be friends, and then Richie kisses him before freshman year and he knows they aren’t, because Bill and Stan kiss him and each other and Richie and they fit together like that until they meet Beverly Marsh.

Richie’s great at getting people to laugh. It’s a skill that borders on annoying, but every time he gets a laugh out of someone, he beams so bright and laughs right back.

One day, out of the blue, he brings Beverly Marsh over to Bill’s.

“I’ve got an extra soulmate,” Richie says, because he’s a terrible liar.

As it turns out, the other three have an extra soulmate too. Bev looks a little terrified, and Eddie can’t blame her. Eddie tries to kiss her and he doesn’t feel anything.

“I don’t--” Eddie says, a little too soft. Bev looks at him and smiles knowingly.

“It’s okay,” She says, hand on his face. Her thumb rubs over his cheekbone, and it’s the most comforting thing he’s ever felt.

Ben and Mike come within the same week. They’re all together, the seven of them, and Eddie realizes he can look around a room and not see a speck of grey. He looks at rainbows and he can see all of it.

He loves, fully and completely, and they love him right back.


	5. A Ship You Don't Usually Write. (Bevaudra - T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW smoking and sexual language. i tried writing this about bev and audra getting together during the second penny fight but god. i just needed some fluff. have some light angst and bill being a dumbass. thank u

Bev woke up with a warm body against her back, and she felt safe. She rolled around to face her, and she was still asleep, blonde hair falling over her face.

Bev pushed her hair back and kissed her awake. Audra grumbled, pulling Bev a little closer, and kissed her back. The air was slow and quiet as they woke up. Bev made bacon and eggs for breakfast, and Audra manned the toaster and the coffee machine. It was silent in the house--until it wasn’t.

Richie called. “Hey, pretty lady! This Friday, my beach house in LA, be there or be square.”

“Nobody under the age of sixty says that, Rich,” Bev rolled her eyes, taking a bite of bacon.

“We’re old now!” Richie defended himself, “C’mon, Bev, you know you miss us.”

She did. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, sweetheart.”

Richie ended the call without saying goodbye, but he always did that, so Bev didn’t worry. Audra looked a little hesitant.

“What’s up?” Bev asked, taking Audra’s hand across the table. Bev popped the rest of the bacon in her mouth, but noticed that Audra hadn’t touched her food yet.

“I… I miss you when you go to those,” Audra admitted, “Could--could I join you? Do you think?”

“Of course!” Bev said, “I told you, Stan always brings his wife. They’d love to see you there.”

“But--with Bill--would it be awkward?” She glanced down at her food, “We haven’t talked since the hearing. I don’t want to make things awkward, really--”

“I promise there will never be anything as awkward as walking in on Bill getting absolutely railed by Mike,” Bev promised, “Because that happened. Audra, how did you not peg him  _ once _ while you were married?”

“I--I’m not sure,” Audra said, letting out a laugh, “He never talked to me about it.”

“Really?” Bev raised an eyebrow, “Pegging’s, like, the best part of dating a man.”

Audra raised her hands in mock-surrender. “It’s just not something we ever did. In my defense, he did always eat me out a lot.”

“I’m glad to hear that, otherwise I would’ve had to have a talk with him,” Bev grinned, “So, anyway, you’re coming to the beach house, right?”

“Of course,” Audra’s smile softened, glowing, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

They went, and Audra was accepted into the group almost immediately. Bill and Mike were still complete horndogs, not leaving each others’ side whenever Bev saw them.

“I wonder if they go to the bathroom together, too?” Audra pondered when they went to refill the popcorn. It was a hit, making Richie laugh so hard he fell off the couch.

“Don’t say that, they might go fuck in that bathroom!” Eddie hissed, “Then how are we supposed to fuck in that bathroom?”

Stan, mortified, hid his face behind his hands and said, “Patty, I want to go home.”

Audra leaned back against Bev and tossed her feet over Eddie’s lap. Eddie’s hands came to rest on Audra’s legs and they all finished watching whatever stupid movie was on the TV and chatting.

Bill, to his credit, was doing his best not to be awkward around Audra, but Bev noticed that he seemed a little more subdued than normal.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, because he stuttered when he spoke to her, and he kept moving his hand to his left hand like he wanted to fiddle with a ring. She cornered him while he was taking a smoke break outside.

“I just--” Bill sighed, “I feel bad. I feel so bad for leaving her because I couldn’t help falling in love with my fucking  _ middle school crush _ . It’s--Bev, how is she?”

“You can still be friends,” Bev suggested, “She misses you too, I think. Just talk to her again.”

Bill nodded, putting out his cigarette and offering Bev a hug. Bill was a little shorter than her, but he was solid and warm. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Bill smiled, “Thank you for taking care of her.”

“It’s not my fault you married the hottest woman on the entire planet,” Bev said fondly, “But, for the record, taking care of her has been the best part of my life so far.”

“When you get married, I call being the best man,” Bill joked.

“Only if I get to be the best man for you and Mike,” Bev shot back. “Want to go back inside before people think we’re dead?”

Bill nodded, and they went back in to the air conditioning and laughter. Richie’s house was bright and warm and, even though it was a rental, it was unequivocally  _ Richie. _ Bev found her spot next to Audra, wrapping an arm around her. It was perfect.


	6. High School AU. (Gen - T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one's kind of got poly losers undertones but i would like to confirm that yes they are dating. yes they are in love. CW for bad teaching, smoking and underage drinking.

“Hey,” Eddie waved to the group, stretching on the track. His smile was wide and he wasn’t sweaty yet, but Richie knew he would be soon. Ben joined him, and they chatted as they stretched. The rest of the losers went to find seats, sitting far too close together. Richie was squished in between Bill and Stan, and he looked absolutely thrilled about it.

“If you pop a stiffie while you’re touching me I’ll kill you,” Stan said, face buried in a birdwatching book. Bev sat on the row in front of them, leaning up against Richie, and Mike had his arm around Bev’s shoulders.

“Don’t worry, Staniel,” Richie grinned, “Your mom’s not here.”

Stan closed his book to punch Richie and went right back to reading. Richie played with Bev’s hair, and she hummed.

The meet was districts, so it drew a wide crowd of parents and grandparents and significant others. The losers had shown up early and they were still sequestered to the upper left corner. Bev had brought a blanket and it was draped across her lap and Mike’s.

Eddie and Ben were in different events. Eddie did short sprints, Ben did hurdles. They sat and chatted and Richie braided Bev’s hair because he had nothing better to do. The one hundred meter was about to start, and Eddie would be running.

When he joined the runners at the line, he looked over to the others. They were already on their feet, cheering and whistling and waving a giant flag that had  _ Ready for Eddie _ on one side and  _ Go Ben! _ on the other because Richie was far more creative than Bev, and they had been respectively in charge of the two sides of the flag.

Eddie smiled and turned back to the lane in front of him, heart hammering in his chest. He felt light as a feather when he heard the gun fire. He pushed his legs harder and faster and he saw their faces in front of him. He imagined them, at the finish line, and when he crossed the finish line he heard the losers screaming for him. It wasn’t until he caught his breath that he realized he’d won. The losers did come down for him then, greeting him just off the track, pulling him into a big hug. Mike picked him up and spun him around, and Eddie squealed.

“I still have another race!” Eddie protested, wriggling in Mike’s grasp, “Let me go!”

“Never,” Mike hummed. “You smell bad.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, Mikey,” Eddie grumbled as Mike set him down, “But exercise makes you do that.”

They watched Ben with the same vigor too, sans Mike flinging him around like a sack of potatoes. Ben also placed first, and the coach didn’t look very pleased about it.

“You will never be an athlete,” He’d snarled to Ben after it, “You and your…  _ friends _ don’t belong here. You will never run with us.”

“Fine, then,” Bill said, stepping between Ben and the coach, “He won’t run with you, and you’ll keep losing to him. It doesn’t make any difference to us or to the judges if he’s with a school or not.”

“You little sick son of a--” The coach cut himself off, taking a breath, “Denbrough, I know losing that brother of yours makes most teachers cut you more slack than you’re worth. But hear this--if you think standing up for  _ him _ will get you anywhere, if you think that just because you ditched the stutter, you deserve the world, you’re wrong. You are all worth less than the dog shit on the bottom of my shoe. You’re lucky I let Kaspbrak run at all.”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” Bill said, looking up at the coach, “You’re a sorry excuse fuh-fuh-for a--for a coach. We’re going. Have fun at the awards ceremony without us.”

Bill turned and marched off, and the losers followed behind him like a group of ducklings following a very short duck. They stopped at the front to pick up Eddie and Ben’s medals and celebrated with drinks Bev persuaded her aunt to buy.

Eddie was a raucous drunk, jumping and dancing and getting his cheeks red and slick with sweat. Ben grew inward, but he laughed loudly and almost cried when Bev started stroking his hair. 

Richie, who had taken his shirt off at some point, kissed Eddie in the early morning. They all kissed, they all fell together that night.

  
“I have never loved anyone more than you guys,” Ben said softly, after he was done crying to  _ Yellow Brick Road _ . It could have also been the seven Mike’s Hards he drank, but it was mostly the song.


	7. Action/Adventure. (Gen - T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one runs a little creepy (or at least, it tries to) so CW for animal death (but like, a supernatural evil entity animal, not an innocent one), guns, and abusive parenting.

“There’s more,” Mike said, laying out a map of the US in the clubhouse.

Everyone looked at him. “Great to see you too,” Stan rolled his eyes.

“More towns like these, more towns like Derry,” Mike took out some thumbtacks, “Here. St. Joseph, Missouri, Salmon Falls, Oregon, Fairfield, Illinois--”

Mike listed another handful of small towns and cities. “There’s more outside the US, I’m sure, but I’ve just been doing some digging around the library--in a few libraries, actually--and here’s what I’ve been able to turn up.”

Mike stepped back, showing them the finished map. There were about twelve thumbtacks on the map, not in any obvious arrangement, just… sitting there.

“What are we supposed to do with this information?” Ben asked. Bev was leaning back on him, sitting between his legs, and she nodded in agreement. Richie and Eddie were sharing the hammock, and Stan and Bill were sequestered to their own corner, reading and doodling, respectively. They all looked a little annoyed that their evenings had been interrupted.

But then, Bill got a look on his face. Mike had known, of course, that this would happen, but he did the research anyway. “There are other Georgies.”

Stan let out a little “ _ Oh no _ ”, prompting the others to groan.

“All due respect, Billy-o,” Richie said, leaning out a little so he could see Bill, “I am fucking done following you to my certain doom.”

He meant it, of course, but he would still go. They all would. They’d follow Bill anywhere.

“You guys,” Bill said, standing and walking to the middle of the room, “We’re not thirteen anymore. We have a duty to these people to stop them from whatever we went through. I would never wish what happened to us on anybody, but it already  _ happened _ to us. We know what to expect. There are other Pennywises out there, preying on these unsuspecting towns. We  _ need _ to help them.”

“No, we really don’t!” Richie got up too, hands wild in the air, “Bill, we don’t  _ know _ these people, and we might not be thirteen anymore, but we’re not adults either! We can’t drive or vote or drink or rent a car and I am  _ not _ throwing away my  _ life _ chasing crazy fucking hallucinatory demons! I’m  _ sixteen _ , Bill, I can’t--I can’t  _ do _ that.”

He ended quietly, out of breath. For a minute, Mike was worried he would end by swinging at Bill, but he seemed so vulnerable. He seemed so young.

Then, he said it. “Bill, I can’t  _ lose _ you.”

Bill looked defeated, eyes huge, as Richie started to cry. Hesitantly, Bill stepped forward, wrapping Richie in a hug.

“I’m sorry,” Richie sniffled, “I’ve been having a bad day.”

Bill’s hand dug into the back of Richie’s hair, his other smoothing down the back of Richie’s shirt. His eyes were trained on the map, and the glance was calculating, the cogs were turning in Bill’s mind and there was no stopping him. None at all.

The clubhouse filled with books, on monsters and crackpot theories and religious texts. Stan brought them all to the synagogue and let them root around in his dad’s books. He convinced his dad he’d lost the keys, and that he wanted to start studying again.

Stan was just the kind of person who made connections. Lots of them. By the time senior year had wrapped up, he had a contact book almost as big as the goddamn yellow pages. He’d grown into himself a little, although he never looked at mirrors and he jumped whenever he heard a loud noise.

They’d kind of… managed to procure a reputation. The first time they’d gotten a job, Richie’s mom was blackout drunk and their neighbor came pounding on the door.

Richie woke to the sound of a glass smashing behind his head. He jolted up and his mom stared at him.

“She wan-wants,” She hiccupped, “Wants you.”

Richie grumbled all the way to the front door to find his neighbor, Anne Fredericks, looking ragged and frightened, like a spooked horse.

“There’s  _ something _ in my house,” She whispered, “Hurry! Hurry, my baby’s in his room, I--”

Richie, unthinking, grabbed the shotgun that always sat by the front door and followed Anne across the street. She let him in, and there was a skittering sound. Richie saw the back end of the  _ something _ move into the hallway, and Richie ran after it.

He heard a clanging, and when he turned on the hall light, the vent shaft was open.

“I need to. Uh. Make a few calls,” Richie said, out of breath. There were scratch marks on the wood floor an inch deep.

Only Bill, Bev, and Mike could make it out on such short notice, but they arrived within a half hour. Bill had some purified salt, courtesy of the priest at the Baptist church down the road. Mike had a rough bestiary that he worked on, adding supernatural creatures to it when he could.

“It could be just a big rat,” Bev postulated, almost hysterical, looking at the floor.

“I think we should try to smoke it out,” Mike suggested, “Mrs. Fredericks, could you show me all the vents in your house?”

Richie didn’t live in the best neighborhood, so Anne’s house was fairly small. Just a bedroom, a converted office-nursery, a kitchen/living room combo, and the bathroom. They sent Anne and her baby out front, and got to work.

Mike lit candles in every vent except the one in the bathroom, which didn’t have anywhere for the  _ something _ to run. They closed the bathroom door and waited.

Mike must have done the right thing, because within ten minutes, the sound of skittering grew louder and louder, and the  _ something _ came flying out of the vent. It latched on to Mike’s arm, gnawing at the skin. Mike, while screaming, ripped it off and threw it into the shower, where Richie shot it. Shrapnel went everywhere, and the four of them ducked away from it.

They looked over to the shower to see what could only be approximated to a giant, hairless rat. It didn’t have a tail, and its claws looked razor-sharp. Its eyes were an inky black, and then it spoke to them.

“You cannot kill me,” It said, “I am a thing of the night. I will only leave when I get what I desire, that infant, that Samuel--”

Beverly smashed its head with the toilet lid. “Fuck! Off!” She said, just wailing away at the  _ something _ ’s body. It jerked every time she hit it until it didn’t, bleeding into the shower drain.

Mike got two trash bags, just to be safe, and wrapped the  _ something _ ’s body up in it. “I’m gonna take this back to the farm and bury it.”

“Alright,” Richie said, still panting, “I guess I’ll go talk to Anne.”

“Yuh-you did good, Richie,” Bill said, clapping Richie on the back, “You were brave.”

Richie knew this wouldn’t be the last time. He looked down at his hands, the words of the  _ something _ rattling through his brain. Its voice was unlike anything he’d ever heard before.

He was glad it was dead.


	8. Marriage Proposal. (Hanbrough - T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> god i'm so soft for hanbrough. this is literally just fluff i don't even think this needs any CWs.

Mike really needed this to be perfect, which is why he enlisted Stan’s help.

“What if he doesn’t like it?” Mike whispered as they wandered the flower shop.

Stan shot Mike that look, the one he’d had since he was seven, “If you asked him to marry you in Shit Lake he’d say yes. Buy tulips, though. Bill’s allergic to roses.”

Mike nodded, picking out blue and purple tulips, and some little white flowers to go with it. He bought the things to make pasta, and tomato sauce, determined to cook a full meal.

He was just starting to add water to the pasta when Stan got a phone call. “Hang on, this is one of my team members, I gotta take this.”

Stan stepped out of the room, made several angry sounding noises, and walked back in. “Some very stupid people have made some very stupid decisions and now I have to go into fucking work. Mike, I’m so sorry, I--”

“It’s okay,” Mike said, because he could never ever be mad at Stan, “Go into work. Thank you for helping me.”

Stan hugged Mike, even though Mike’s hands were covered in flour-egg-water goop, and walked out, leaving Mike in a devastatingly silent home.

Mike continued to make the pasta, or, at least, try to make it. It wound up too sticky and he ran out of extra flour, then his sauce boiled over, then Bill texted and said he’d gotten off work early.

Mike threw the dough into the garbage and ran out to get store-bought pasta, cleaned up the mess he’d made in the kitchen, and put on his nice shirt and slacks just in time for Bill to get home. He lit some candles on the table, by the flowers, and opened the door for Bill when he got out of his car.

“You look… sweaty,” Bill noted, looking Mike up and down. He grinned, laughing a little, and kissed Mike, smiling a little too much for it to go anywhere.

Mike took Bill’s hand and brought him inside. “Set your bag down. I’ve got some spaghetti and meatballs on in the kitchen, you should just relax.”

Bill nodded, and they were just about to make it to the kitchen when Mike heard something that should not have been sizzling sizzle on the stove. “Shit!” Mike jumped, rushing to turn the heat down on the pasta water.

“Fuck, that’s the second time something’s boiled over,” Mike said, “Uh--Bill, just make yourself comfortable, please.”

Bill sat down and immediately stood back up as Mike tried to wrangle the spaghetti into the strainer. “Mike! Mike!”

Mike turned around to see the tulips on fire. “Oh, fuck!” He said, dropping most of the pasta in the sink and using the towel to keep the smoke away from the smoke detector. Bill frantically tried to put the fire out, dumping the flowers into the sink along with the pasta.

Eventually, they did manage to put out the flowers, and they blew out the candles and turned the lights on. Mike sighed, a little more emotional that he’d intended, and rubbed at his eyes, a little surprised by himself.

“Hey,” Bill said, bringing Mike’s hands away from his face, “It’s okay.”

Mike shook his head. “No, Bill, I wanted today to be--to be special, and I’ve ruined it--”

“I mean it, Mikey,” Bill’s hands reached up to cup Mike’s face, thumbs rubbing the tears away, “It’s perfect.”

Mike hugged Bill, sobbing a little into his neck. Bill rubbed circles into Mike’s back, humming to him and swaying.

Mike pulled away. “Do you know how perfect you are?”

Bill shook his head. “Mike, I’m not--”

“You are,” Mike kept his hands on Bill’s waist, “You’re beautiful, you’re smart, you’re a fantastic writer. You make me so happy, Bill. I just wanted tonight to be special, because, well--”

Mike dug around in his pocket, heart thudding in his chest. He took out the box and held it in his hand. “I wanted to ask you to marry me.”

Bill gasped, drawing back. His hand came to cover his mouth, and he nodded.

“Mike, I--” Bill nodded, “Of course. You didn’t need to--to do all this. I-I-I wuh-would--”

“You would have said yes even if I asked you to marry me in Shit Lake,” Mike rolled his eyes, “Yeah. Stan told me that one already.”

Bill kissed Mike again, and Mike slid the ring onto Bill’s finger.

“Tonight  _ is _ special,” Bill said over the pizza they’d had delivered, “You know. It’s the most special night of my life, I think.”


	9. Morning Cuddles. (Poly Losers - T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> as the title implies, this one's pretty tame. it's kinda background poly losers but focuses on bill, ben, bev, and richie. it's a weird combo, i know, just go with it. CW for some sexual language and mentions of nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALS WEEK IS DONE :D
> 
> in other news, i'm now going to be dumping like 13 chapters into this fic at once so. uh. enjoy?

Ben loves mornings like these. His room has become a sort of sanctuary for nights when they have nightmares, where  _ they _ are a different collection of Losers every night. He’d had a gigantic bed installed because he’s a rich architect and his house looks however he wants it to, and if they really squeezed in they could probably fit all of them in it.

This morning, it’s Bill, Richie, and Bev, all curled in close to him. Ben’s a heavy sleeper, like Richie, but he did wake up in the night to Bill trembling into his skin. It must have been a bad one.

Ben rolls over and Bill opens one eye. Ben cracks a smile and feels Bev’s arms circle his waist, her face burying itself in his neck. Ben would readily admit to being a little spoon if it wouldn’t mean so much teasing from Richie.

Ben reaches forward to pull Bill close, and Bill gives a surprised little noise before humming and relaxing, letting Ben move his hands over Bill’s exposed back.

Ben feels a little bad, for loving these mornings so, so much. After all, they wouldn’t really need them if none of the losers had nightmares, but seeing Bill let go of all his tension and fall like putty into Ben’s arms was just… indescribable.

The sunlight through the cracks in the blinds was bright, illuminating Bill’s hair, his eyes. Ben kissed his forehead.

“How are you feeling?” Ben asked.

“I duh-duh-don’t know what you’re tuh-talking ab-about,” Bill said, playing dumb.

Ben raised an eyebrow at him. “You had a nightmare. Don’t think I didn’t catch you crawling into bed at ass o-clock in the morning. How are you feeling?”

Bill hummed, and when he spoke his voice was muffled by Ben’s neck. “Better, now.”

It was lazy and slow and  _ god _ , it was perfect. Ben could have lived there forever, sandwiched between Bill and Bev, Richie still dead to the world.

Bill moved a strand of hair back from Ben’s face, hand tracing Ben’s laugh lines. “You’re perfect.”

“I doubt it,” Ben said, smiling. Bill had meant it, and Ben knew it, but it was impossible to think that he could be nearly as good as the others.

“Anyone else have morning wood?” Richie asked, suddenly, fully, dutifully awake and ready to fuck everything up.

Bev threw a pillow at him. “Go take care of it your own damn self, Trashmouth. Or find Eddie, Lord knows you two go at it like a bunch of--”

“Beep beep, both of you!” Ben interrupted, face bright red, “Richie, you are not allowed to masturbate in my bed before ten at night. Go somewhere else.”

“Damn, Haystack,” Richie sighed, standing up, “Your cry session with Billy-o was really doing it for me.”

“Ruh-Rich,” Bill rolled his eyes, “You’re not helping your case here.”

“Yeah, nobody wants to blow you when you talk about the two best people on the planet like that,” Bev said, and the three of them all had something to say about that.


	10. Love Confessions. (Poly Losers - T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW for mentions of stan's suicide attempt, eddie's injuries, and some bullshit medical science.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's poly losers time baby!

Richie’s always been shit at this.  _ This _ being talking about something that wasn’t his dick. Even in meetings. Especially in meetings.

But here he is, sitting across from Eddie as they all eat together at some shitty restaurant after everything, exhausted. They’ve all finally allowed themselves a moment to breathe--Stan’s back from the hospital, Eddie’s looking at a mostly full recovery. He has to walk with crutches, though. The claw had missed anything super important, but it nicked some of the nerves in his lower back, so, to put it in Eddie’s own words, “It feels like I’m being set on fire every time I put weight on it.”

They’re at a big circle booth in an Applebee’s, because it’s the only place in Derry that’s open at this time of night. They all keep looking at Stan like he might disappear--hell, Bill’s been pressed to his side all evening, and Richie almost--totally--cried when he saw him.

Richie had been trembling, arms coming up to touch Stan’s face, just like he had Eddie’s in the ambulance to the hospital. It was the closest to prayer Richie had ever been.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Stan says with a huff, in the present, and everyone has the decency to open their menus again and look away from him.

“You could have died,” Richie says, surprising himself, “You  _ almost _ died, Stan, I think I’m allowed to look.”

Stan looks stunned, and, to his credit, Richie feels the same way. “I--Rich--”

“No, Stan, I think I want to talk,” Richie shakes his head, “I almost  _ lost _ you, man. I don’t--I’m not kidding. I’m not making a joke, okay? I mean it. It would have devastated me to lose you or--or Eddie. I almost lost both of you! Do you know--do you know--”

Richie tries to get the words out but he chokes, hands coming up to cover his face. Eddie reaches a hand over Richie’s shoulders, rubbing into them. “It’s okay,” Eddie says, so softly Richie’s hurt by it, “We’re here, Rich. We’re not going anywhere, okay?”

“I love you!” Richie blurts, knowing he won’t get it out otherwise, “Both of you. All--all of you. Bev and Ben and Bill and Mike too. Not like--not like anyone I’ve ever loved before and--I’m sorry, I’m so sorry because I’m a coward and--”

The Applebee’s waitress refills Mike’s Diet Dr. Pepper with the haste of someone who has definitely walked in on something they shouldn’t have. She spills a little on the table, doesn’t apologize, and practically runs to the kitchen. Richie understands.

“It’s--Richie,” Eddie says, pulling away. For a split second that lasts half an hour, Richie thinks he’s disgusted, but then he says, “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. No offense.”

Eddie’s arms are back tenfold, wrapping around Richie. On the other side of him is Bev, who squishes him between her and Eddie. Richie lets out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

“We love you too, dumbass,” Bev says, a lot more sincere than she meant, face buried in the crook of Richie’s neck.


	11. Snowball Fight. (Poly Losers - G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one's just pure slice of life fluff. it's not romance-centric but there is some smoochin

“What do you  _ mean _ you’ve never been sledding?” Richie hollered. The entire rest of the loser’s club was sitting in the kitchen nook, around a circular table. Richie and Eddie were--as usual--the last two awake, and they stumbled into the kitchen bickering.

Eddie crossed his arms. “My mom never let me go outside when it snowed! She didn’t want me to get frostbite.”

“Well, you’re going out today, Spaghetti Man,” Richie grinned, “Grab your coat!”

Bev nearly pushed Ben out of his seat in her effort to get up and shove her arms into her own coat. “I’m coming.”

The others weren’t nearly as enthusiastic, but eventually they’d all been coaxed outside, excluding Ben and Stan, who were more than happy to get some hot cocoa going.

It had snowed for the last three days, but now they were reaping the reward; a beautiful, crystal-clear winter wonderland. The snow lay undisturbed on the ground, but not for long, as Richie and Bev ruined it by flopping down and making snow angels.

“Come on, Eds!” Richie said, “It’s fun!”

“No!” Eddie said back. Richie stood and tried to wrestle Eddie to the ground, but something cold hit him in the back of the head.

“You’re fucked, Marsh!” Richie scrambled off of Eddie, packing some snow together and launching it back at Bev. It missed wildly, but Eddie was laughing. He scooped together his own snowball and nailed Mike in the chest.

“Fuck you! I was enjoying the view!” Mike roared, throwing snow back. Soon, they’d devolved into an all-out war, every man for himself. Bev was winning solidly, as she usually did in these games, every shot landing exactly where she’d intended.

Richie wiped snow out of his face. “Eagle eyes Marsh gets off a good one--” And promptly got hit in the face again.

By the time everyone was tired, Eddie had this wonderful pink glow on his face, Bill’s nose was running, and Bev’s hair was a knotted mess under her hat.

“Let’s go warm up,” Mike suggested, “My hands are cold.”

They went back inside, leaving their wet clothes by the door. Ben and Stan greeted them with hot cocoa, and Ben kissed them all on the cheek as they walked by.

Eddie pressed himself up against Richie. “God. That was amazing.”

“See? Never doubt me again,” Richie said with as much wisdom as he had in his whole body, “I’m always right, Eds.”

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie said, stirring marshmallows into his hot cocoa. It was rich and made with real milk and cocoa powder. Ben had really picked up cooking in his spare time, and just like everything else he’d ever tried, he was  _ so  _ good at it.

Eddie yawned halfway through the cup of cocoa, and all of the losers went to the living room to nap lazily, content in the day off, tangled up in each other like they always had been. Mike was curled around Bill, hand pushed up under Bill’s shirt, Bev was between Richie and Ben, Richie’s head at her chest and Ben on her other side, tucked into her neck. Eddie was sprawled between Richie and Bill, and Stan was watching them sleep from the couch, filling out the bird sudoku book that Bill got him for Hanukkah. Everything was good.


	12. Comedic Misunderstanding. (Reddie - T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW for mentions of animal death. it's shrimp tho

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's reddie-centric but there's also some light benverly at the beginning

“So,” Bev said, face twitching, “You’re telling me… you  _ never _ asked for some pet shrimp?”

“No, Bev!” Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose, “I said, ‘I can never have shrimp, I’m allergic’!”

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to find pet shrimp?” Ben asked, “And then we had to set the aquarium up which, your husband was not  _ any _ help at all--”

“Why the fuck didn’t you stop them?” Eddie pointed to Richie, who held his hands up in mock-surrender, “Did it at any point occur to you that I have never requested pet shrimp once in my life?”

“I thought maybe you wanted a change of pace!” Richie defended himself, “Plus, I thought it would be funny.”

“Beep beep!” The three of them all turned in to him like they traitors they were. Richie scowled, arms folding across his chest.

“Well.  _ I  _ like them,” Richie grumbled.

Eddie blinked. “You--what?”

“I like them!” Richie said, louder, “I thought the idea of pet shrimp was ridiculous but Eds, look at them, they’re just swimming around in there, happy to be alive--”

“You are an idiot,” Eddie rolled his eyes, expression turning unbelievably soft, “I guess if you want them we can keep them.”

“Fine,” Richie nodded, like he wouldn’t have begged Eddie to keep them anyway, “But we tell the press that it was your idea to keep them. I have a reputation, you know.”

“What reputation?” Bev asked unhelpfully, looking completely innocent. She grinned wolfishly at Richie.

“Fuck all of you, I only care about my shrimps now,” Richie turned back to the tank, which was situated on the peninsula separating the kitchen from the living area. There were a few different structures for the shrimp to hide under, and they were swimming around, completely at ease. Richie had to admit, they were very soothing to watch. The pebbles in their tank were neon, pinks and greens, and the kitchen light shimmered through the water in a way that made his brain very happy.

“You’ve created a monster,” Eddie warned, “God. He’s going off the deep end, I can see it now--”

“Who’s the one that married me?” Richie reminded Eddie.

Eddie’s arm circled around Richie’s back and Eddie leaned into him. “I did. Best decision of my miserable life.”

Bev and Ben cooed.

“I have seen you two make out before,” Richie threatened, “I have pictures of Ben crying when you said three nice things to him in under ten minutes.”

“Hey!” Ben said, clearly offended. Bev squawked a little. “Delete those!”

“Never,” Richie eyed them, “Now, who wants to help me set up for the meeting tonight?”

Reluctantly (but only on the surface) they agreed to help him. Richie’s shrimp became a real source of pride for him, and he even refused to cook them when they died.

“You don’t eat friends!” Richie would protest, giving them a proper burial in the flower pot attachment to their windowsill. Richie always said it was so they could rest in the light, and Eddie would pretend it didn’t make him cry every time.


	13. UNcomedic Misunderstanding. (Reddie - T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW for internalized homophobia and mentions of eddie's mom being eddie's mom

Richie’s been waiting for this moment for  _ years _ . No-- _ centuries _ . He’s sure that past lives must be involved because how else is he supposed to explain the deep, unending yearning he feels for Eddie? Every time he thinks of Eddie’s perfect little face or his perfect little hands his heart swells in his chest and he has to take a break so he doesn’t start crying.

So when he finally decides to stop being a pussy and tell him, it’s a big deal. Richie’s never been the bravest, but he can force his way through fear if he has enough incentive. And, in this case, alleviating some of the pressure in his throat whenever Eddie looked at him the wrong way would be enough.

It’s surprisingly hard to corner Eddie by himself. They’re always hanging out with the other losers, and Eddie’s pretty much joined at the hip to Bev. Not that Richie’s complaining, because he’s also pretty much joined at the hip to Bev, but it makes it very difficult to fess up when she’s standing there, not judging, but certainly seeing right through him.

Eventually, while they’re walking home from school, Richie blurts, “I want to talk to you!”

It comes out as more of a squeak. Bill turns to look at him, shocked.

“Eddie! I want to talk to Eddie!” Richie says frantically, “C’mon Eds, let’s go, quick quick, don’t want to make your mother worry--”

Richie pulls Eddie into the woods, just out of view, and he hopes it’s good enough. He wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans and swallows, listening to the birds starting to sing again. He always misses them, in the winter. Maybe not as bad as Stan, but Richie’s always loved birdsong. And bug noises. He has trouble sleeping without the bug noises.

“Rich? You wanted to talk?” Eddie reminds him, and Richie snaps back to reality.

“Right, sorry,” Richie shakes his head, “Thing is, Spaghetti, I’ve--I’ve--I’ve been feeling some sorta way about you. For a while. Like, a romantic kinda way. Like a…”

  
Eddie stands there and stares at him, eyes wide, like a deer in headlights. Richie’s heart skips several beats, and then it drops down to his toes. The lump in his throat is back.

“I--I--I--I’ll just--I’ll go,” Richie says hastily before turning and sprinting. Eddie doesn’t call after him. Richie makes it all the way to his house before he starts crying. His parents are somewhere else for a few days, which is great, because he has the house to himself and he can wail like a sick infant for all anybody cares.

Richie thinks about how Eddie must hate him, how Eddie’s mom warned him time after time about sin and sickness and dirty men. God,  _ Richie’s _ dirty. Eddie won’t ever touch him again.

It’s kind of a surprise when Eddie knocks on Richie’s bedroom door. “You--uh--you left the front door open.”

Richie tries to decide between anger or guilt. “I’m suh-so sorry.”

“No! Richie, I--” Eddie crouches down in front of him, and Richie thinks,  _ this is it! This is the end of the hammock and the piggyback rides and the two scoops vanilla in a waffle cone and _ \--

“I didn’t know how to respond because I love you,” Eddie sighs, “Like. Like the way you love me. And it scares me, and I don’t know what to do because you look at me like I hung the moon and  _ that _ scares me because my momma always said men like that were sick, that they--that  _ we _ were going to Hell, and I--”

Richie kisses Eddie, hard and sloppy and not very good because they’re fifteen and Richie’s just been crying like, a lot, but Richie thinks again.  _ Surely, they wouldn’t make such an awful sin feel so perfect? _


	14. Adopting a Pet. (Gen? - T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW for mentions of nightmares and sexual language. this one's pretty fluffy too and it's mostly gen but there's some... implications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by the giant fat pitbull at a family friend's birthday party. tank i love you

It’s Mike who brings her home.  _ Her _ being a giant, mutt puppy that bounds into the living room and starts licking Richie’s face. Richie sputters and eventually pushes her off, looking at Mike, who’s looking back sheepishly.

“I went to volunteer today, and, uh,” Mike looks down, smiling, “She just--I couldn’t get her out of my mind. I had to take her.”

“God, Mike, don’t you know how many allergens those things carry?” Eddie asks, shooing her away from Richie.

“I think she’s adorable,” Bev says, sitting down and letting her slobber all over her face. Ben joins her, and the puppy seems to have trouble deciding between them before laying down across both of their laps.

“What’s her name?” Bev turns to Mike, already convinced they’re keeping her.

Mike hums, “I didn’t name her. I was thinking it would be something fun for us to do together.”

Eddie groans. “You’re going to give me a heart attack, Michael.”

“I’ll eat you out later,” Mike offers with a little grin. Eddie blushes furiously and gestures to the dog.

“Not in front of her!” Eddie exclaims, but he doesn’t look as mad about Mike bringing a germ magnet into the house.

“I think we should name her Persephone,” Ben says, rubbing her belly. There doesn’t seem to be any disagreement, and the newly-dubbed Persephone’s tail thumps on the ground.

Persephone grows  _ so _ much. She’s some sort of pitbull mix, but the kind that gets so big and fat that it’s a miracle people don’t scream when they see her. Eddie gets her jackets for the winter and shoes so he can take her hiking with him and Stan after they warm up to her. Richie gets her a collar that says  _ Party Girl _ in a bright pink, cursive font because he thinks it’s hilarious.

They start to leave their bedroom doors open because she can tell when someone’s having a nightmare. Sometimes, one of the lighter sleepers will be woken up by the sound of nails clipping across the floor as she trots across the hall, and often Eddie or Bill will follow to make sure that the person having the nightmare is okay. When they find them, more times than not, Persephone is already curled up next to them, and they’re both sound asleep again.

Mike and Ben can’t help but feed her table scraps, and Eddie and Stan badger them for it. Persephone spends all her years thinking she’s a lap dog, climbing up onto the couch even--especially--when someone’s working from home so she can flop down on their lap and they can pet her. She doesn’t bark much, but when she’s does, it’s a deep  _ boof _ sound from her chest that wakes the whole neighborhood.

The losers don’t take long to fall completely, helplessly in love with her. She’s very mild-mannered and doesn’t care much for physical activity, so she and Richie spend a lot of their afternoons curled up somewhere together while the others are out doing whatever it is they do. 

On her fifth birthday, Eddie officially apologizes. “Mikey, I’m so glad you got her. I was an idiot for ever thinking we couldn’t keep her.”

Bev’s got her dolled up in a party hat, taking pictures of her panting in front of her birthday cake. She digs into her glorified meatloaf with a passion, and then passes out on the couch between Ben and Richie. She really is the best thing that’s ever happened to them.


	15. Meeting the Parents (Gen - T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW for everyone's parents but mike's lol. i'm such a sucker for "mike's parents suddenly adopt 7 children the summer after mike's 8th grade year" aus. also CW for mentions of antisemitism.

Mike could tell his parents were anxious to meet his friends. It was his first year in public school, his first year actually having friends that weren’t farmhands or his parents. They had every right to be anxious, and he had every right to be anxious right back.

The anxiety faded pretty quickly, though, as soon as Eddie’s eyes widened as he walked into the house. It was a look Mike saw on all their faces, almost like they couldn’t believe what they were seeing. All of them shook Mike’s dad’s hand, and they all accepted a hug from Mike’s mom. They all looked, quite frankly, overwhelmed. Mike’s house wasn’t huge, but it was certainly bigger than most of theirs. Stan and Bill both had bigger, in the suburbs, but their houses just felt… empty. Mike’s was full of warmth and light and, at the moment, the smell of roasting beef.

“Is it--I’m sorry, is beef kosher?” Mike’s mom had asked, pulling Stan aside. Stan laughed and Mike felt mortified, groaning into his hands.

“It’s fine, Mrs. Hanlon,” Stan said, shaking with laughter. He was still chuckling when they all sat down to eat.

They started to pass out the food, and Stan looked a little confused.

“What’s up?” Mike asked, voice low.

Stan shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

Bill told Mike’s mom how good her mac ‘n cheese was, through a mouthful of mac ‘n cheese. Mike’s mom would tell Mike for years how skinny his friends were, how she worried about them. Of course, Mike did too, and his mom’s concern gave him all the more reason to invite them over.

Later, they were all in the barn, sprawled out together, a little high, a little drunk. It always got like this, when they started getting too warm for their shirts and their lips got looser.

“I--this is the first time I’ve been to someone’s house and they haven’t done a prayer before the meal,” Stan admitted, “That’s why--I dunno. It’s dumb. I just felt a little awkward.”

“What?” Mike turned to glance at him. It made sense--everyone else’s parents were religious, especially Eddie’s and Bill’s. Mike just hadn’t ever thought about it before.

“First time I’ve had home cooked  _ anything _ in about three years,” Bill laughed sadly, playing with his bottle of ale.

Richie nodded. “Mike, your parents are amazing.”

“You guys deserve it,” Mike said, “You deserve everything.”

From that year on, they spent the holidays with Mike’s family. Eddie’s mom tried to stop him every year, but he went anyway. Bev’s aunt joined them sometimes, and so did Ben’s mom. They all felt loved, for the first time in a long time, they felt well-fed.

Mike knew his momma. She liked to say that she knew him better than anybody, but he knew her too. He knew that her only goal was to make them feel warm and safe. Once she’d laid her eyes on them, there was no stopping her from fussing over their bruises and scrapes.

Mike saw it in their eyes--no matter how much they protested, they secretly welcomed it.


	16. Trapped Together in a Snowstorm. (Hanbrough - T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> please for the love of all that is holy read this as pre-stenbranlon.
> 
> there's no CWs for this but (and this goes for any of these) ask and i'll put one in

They were on their way to Bill’s parents when the car broke down. They skidded off the road into a giant pile of snow, Mike throwing his arm in front of Bill to protect him. It would have worked if Bill hadn’t also tried to throw his arm in front of Mike to protect him, so they wound up bumping their heads together, and then slamming into the airbags.

“You’ve gotta be fuh-fuh-fucking kidding me,” Bill cursed, smacking the dash. The car stubbornly refused to start back up. It wouldn’t even turn over.

“Bill--” Mike said, “What if we don’t make it to our flight in time?”

“Don’t say that, Mikey, we just have to--we juh-juh-juh-just--” Bill pulled at his hair, twisting around in his seat. The presents were all still there, perfectly inanimate. 

“Bill, I don’t think we’re going north for Christmas,” Mike sighed, “This thing’s gotta go in for repairs.”

That’s when Mike noticed the smoke. “Holy shit, Bill, get out!”

They did, they leaped out of the car and into the blizzard. It was grey out and  _ so _ hard to see.

“I huh-huh-huh- _ hate _ Chicago!” Bill’s voice built up to a yell, and he kicked some of the grey sludge at his feet.

A light turned on, and they looked to the porch of a tiny house to their left.

“Are you okay?” A man yelled to them.

Bill shivered. “It’s a bit chilly!”

“Come in!” He yelled back, “I’ve got soup!”

Following the allure of warm hands, Bill and Mike stumbled into the stranger’s house.

“I couldn’t go home for Hanukkah,” He sighed, “Too much snow, too much distance between here and Georgia. Mom mailed me some Matzo ball soup, though--here, let me warm some up. Make yourself at home!”

The house was warm and inviting, but tidy. A menorah with two candles lit sat on the kitchen table, and a cat rubbed up against their ankles.

“We’re actually trying to get up north for Christmas,” Bill said, “We’re down in Florida most of the year.”

The stranger laughed. “Got any gators with you?”

“I sure hope not,” Mike quipped back, only half-joking, “Those fuckers surprise you. They can get anywhere.”

The man laughed, pulling the soup out of the fridge. “I’m Stan Uris.”

“Bill Denbrough and Mike Hanlon,” Bill smiled, “Thank you so much for this.”

“Sit down!” Stan pressured, getting a pot out from the cabinet. Mike and Bill sat obediently.

“I’ll try to get ahold of a towing company,” Mike sighed, scrolling through Google. Stan also heated up a pan and took out some dough from the fridge. Bill and Mike sorted out their car troubles while Stan cooked, and it was surprisingly comfortable.

Stan brought over the latkes and soup, both steaming hot. “My mom also sent over latke dough, so I fried some up.”

Bill and Mike took the food graciously, thanking Stan and taking a bite. The soup was warm and delicious, a welcome change from the winter outside.

Then, the power went out.

“You have got to be  _ fucking _ kidding me!” Stan groaned, running a hand through his hair, “Can you guys help? I’ve got some candles and blankets in storage, but I didn’t think I’d, y’know,  _ have to use them _ .”

They set up the candles in the fireplace in the living room, crowding around each other and finishing dinner. They were wrapped in comforters and quilts and blankets, still warm even as the cold invaded their house.

“Looks like the whole plant’s down,” Stan sighed, “You might be here for a while, guys. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Mike said, “This is probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for us.”

The power was out for thirty minutes, but the roads were unmanageable for a week. They got to know Stan very well, and he got to know them. He was not unlike his own house, warm and inviting and tidy, and when they finally left for Maine, they left with his phone number and an invitation to come back any time.


	17. First Kiss. (Reddie - T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW for internalized homophobia and, to a certain extent, germophobia and anxiety.

Eddie hated the thought of kissing. Sure, maybe a peck on the lips was fine, but people exchanged thousands, no,  _ millions _ , of bacteria when they kissed. It was disgusting, it was invasive, it probably tasted bad, and Eddie didn’t want to do it.

That’s why he didn’t kiss girls, and that’s what he told his mom for years. 

He was in college now. He had a pretty good handle on everything, but once in a while his brain would slip into a daydream about his roommate, with the curly black hair and giant coke-bottle glasses, or his running buddy, a chubby man with a full beard and kind eyes. It would show him, like a movie, before he could think of anything else, him curled up with the man who sat next to him in his American Lit class, the one with the obnoxious ponytail. He wished the thoughts away as sleep deprivation, even though he got a full eight hours every night.

Well, he  _ would _ , if it wasn’t for Tozier. Richie, although he was nice enough, did not seem to sleep. Maybe he did when Eddie was at class, but certainly not when Eddie was in their dorm. He was always puttering around in the dead of night, clicking away on his computer. As far as Eddie knew, he didn’t have a major, and was just there to get his gen eds out of the way. Which was fine, Eddie knew people didn’t have to have their life planned out as soon as they left high school, but Eddie  _ did _ . He was going to graduate with a bachelor’s in business, become a risk analyst, marry a nice woman, and do everything right. Picket fence, two and a half kids, a block away from his mother. That was what he wanted, except when he thought about it too hard his breath kept getting caught in his throat.

One day, Eddie walked into his dorm to find Richie rubbing at his eyes, trying to hide the fact that he’d been crying.

“What’s up?” Eddie asked, sitting in the bed across from him. Richie sat up, legs swinging out to face Eddie.

Richie laughed a little. “Came out to my parents. Got told I couldn’t come back until I had a woman on my arm. Typical.”

“You--you’re gay?” Eddie blinked, heart racing.

“Bisexual, actually,” Richie said, smiling sadly, “Not that it makes any difference to them. I’m still a little gay rat that’ll always be the family disappointment.”

Eddie felt something small bloom in his chest. In hindsight, he would realize it was excitement and hope. “I’m sorry, that sounds awful.”

“What about you, then? Are you out to your mom?” Richie asked, wiping at his eyes again.

“I’m not--dude, I’m straight,” Eddie wrinkled his nose, “I’m just waiting for the right girl.”

“There’s plenty of right girls here,” Richie said bluntly, “Plenty of left ones, too. You have an entire student body to choose from, and yet, I’ve only ever caught you staring at men.”

“Wh--I’m allowed to think men are attractive without being gay!” Eddie defended himself, crossing his arms over his chest.

“That’s literally what being gay is, man,” Richie said, looking at Eddie suspiciously. There was a beat of silence, and then Richie tried again. “How about this--when you look at a girl, do you want to kiss her?”

Eddie thought about it. “No--but that doesn’t mean anything!”

“Have you ever thought about how nice it would be to kiss a guy?”

Eddie paused for way too long.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Eds,” Richie said in the most gentle voice Eddie had ever heard come out of that mouth, “It’s okay! Really. The only person who needs to accept you is  _ you _ .”

“But--my mom always said gay men were dirty,” Eddie said in a broken-hearted whisper, “I don’t want to be dirty, Rich. I don’t want to be  _ diseased _ .”

“It’s not a disease, Eds,” Richie switched over to Eddie’s bed, placing his hand on Eddie’s. “It’s normal. It’s natural.”

Eddie looked over at the wall, refusing to make eye contact with Richie.

“Here--kiss me,” Richie offered. Eddie snapped to look at him, confused and a little offended.

“If you’re really not gay, you won’t like the kiss,” Richie said. It made enough sense that Eddie nodded. He had to prove this to himself. To the voice in his head that sounded exactly like his mom.

Richie’s lips were on his, and it was wonderful. Richie’s hand cupped Eddie’s jaw. His lips were chapped and his mouth tasted a little like hot cheetos. His stubble scratched against Eddie’s mouth. Eddie wasn’t quite sure how to kiss, but he mirrored the way Richie moved, and then Richie straddled Eddie’s waist, his other hand moving to tilt Eddie’s head back to get a better angle and--

“Stop! Stop,” Eddie scrambled backwards, out from under Richie. His head hit the wall and he was in the throes of an asthma attack, scrambling for his inhaler. He used it once, twice, three times before his chest stopped aching.

“Well?” Richie asked, as if nothing had happened.

“She’s gonna kill me,” Eddie whispered, “She’s gonna send me away, Rich, she’s gonna--”

“Hey! Hey, you’re okay,” Richie crouched down in front of Eddie, holding his hands, setting his inhaler back on his desk, “Look at me. Just breathe, Eddie, you’re going to be okay. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Eddie, to his horror, found himself crying. “I just--I don’t know what to do! I don’t know what to do, Rich, I can’t be gay. I can’t, I can’t I--”

“Shh,” Richie comforted him, standing up so Eddie could lean his head into Richie’s chest. Richie swayed with him, letting him cry. Eddie’s arms were wrapped tight around Richie’s waist, holding him close.

“We can figure this out together, okay? I’m here for you,” Richie said, petting Eddie’s hair, “You’re not gonna be alone.”


	18. Cuddle Pile. (Poly Losers - G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pure fluff. it's literally the fluffiest thing i've ever written.

It was rare when their schedules aligned just so. It helped that half of them took a vacation day, and that they were rich enough to have all the vacation days they wanted, but usually Bill had to talk to his publisher or Bev had to go to a meeting or Ben had to call into work, but here they all were, laying together on the floor like they were teenagers and they didn’t all go to the same chiropractor. 

“I love you guys,” Mike said from his spot at the bottom of what could loosely be described as a cuddle pile. Stan didn’t usually like being touched by more than one person, but he was basking in the attention today, at least for the time being. He cuddled in closer to Mike, pressing kisses to his neck.

There was a movie playing in the background that nobody was really paying attention to, except Ben, because he had the attention span for that sort of thing. Richie was playing with Bev’s hair, and Bev was mostly on Ben’s lap, but she was holding hands with Bill, who was otherwise tangled together with Eddie. It was a convoluted mess of bodies. They lazily swapped kisses and passed touches, soft and gentle.

Bill fell asleep before too long, with Richie moving over to his next victim; Ben. Bev’s hair was braided, and Bill wasn’t any fun when he was asleep, so Richie situated himself on the couch behind Ben and started mindlessly running his fingers through his hair. Ben leaned into the touch, humming and closing his eyes.

Eddie curled up against Bill and closed his eyes, throwing his blanket over both of them. They were all quiet, in the same room together, which almost never happened. Stan seemed to be enjoying it most of all.

Soon, Richie realized he was the only one still awake. Everyone else was tangled together on the floor, a giant mass of limbs and skin. It would be gross if Richie didn’t love them so much. Which he did. He loved all of them  _ so _ much it physically hurt. He didn’t quite know what to do, now that there was nobody he could bother without feeling like an absolute asshole. He didn’t usually mind, but the silence was kind of nice. 

The more he looked, the more he thought it might be nice to join them. But it would be such a waste of a day off to spend it sleeping. He could be out… doing something. Doing anything that wasn’t laying down and wrapping his arms around Mike’s waist to drag him in closer, feel the heat radiating off him.

“Rich?” Ben asked, cracking an eye open.

“What’s up, Benny Boy?” Richie said back.

“It’s not wasteful to rest, you know,” Ben murmured. Maybe Bev was rubbing off on him--he saw too much of Richie for his own good.

Richie sighed. “Yeah, but--I don’t want to disturb them.”

“That’s a load of horse shit.”

“You’re right, Benjamin Button,” Richie gave in, not that he needed much, and he moved from the couch to satisfy the voice inside him that needed to touch and be touched more than it needed air.

Mike turned around to wrap his arms around Richie, and Richie felt the warmth of the day seep into his bones. He could have stayed like that forever.


	19. Movie Night. (Poly Losers - T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> also pretty fluffy! CW for sexual language

Friday night was movie night. Always had been and, if Stan’s need for routine was anything to go by, it always would be. (Richie needed the routine, too, but he would never admit it.)

They were, sort of, sat on the couch in front of the TV. Bev was sitting in front of Ben, with a blanket on her lap and Richie’s head on the blanket. Eddie was laying in front of Richie, already asleep before the movie began. Bill, Stan, and Mike were on the other half of the couch in more of a  _ BillStanMike _ configuration, with Stan laying across both of their laps with his feet in Ben’s. It was more comfortable than it looked.

Stan and Richie passed the popcorn back and forth, with Bill and Mike stealing bites every time Stan had it. Ben and Bev shared their own bowl.

“I can’t believe you guys just eat it with salt and butter,” Richie scoffed at them.

Bev flicked Richie’s forehead. “I can’t believe you put a mountain of that seasoning on it. That’s disgusting.”

“I think you mean delicious,” Richie said, shoving a giant handful into his mouth and continuing to talk through it. “Ah’ leas’ ahm no’ afrai’ oo lih.”

“In English, please,” Ben rolled his eyes.

Richie swallowed. “I said, at least I’m not afraid to live! Unlike some of us.”

Bev flicked Richie’s forehead again.

“You’re interrupting my nap!” Eddie whined, turning around and octopusing himself around Richie’s torso. Unfortunately, he also pinned Richie’s arms to his sides.

“More popcorn for us!” Bill cheered as Richie struggled. Eventually, he gave in, and Eddie nuzzled into his neck, humming contentedly.

So, movie night was less about the movie and more about being together for two and a half hours before someone had to be neurotic about something that involved getting up from their spots. But in this particular case, they were watching a nature documentary that Stan and Mike had picked out, something about the mating rituals of birds of paradise.

“Man, these birds are vicious,” Ben remarked, “I’m glad sex is, like, enjoyable for us.”

“Aw, but I think the bower birds are kinda sweet,” Bev said, “Just like you, Ben!”

Ben wrinkled his nose. “I’m a better fuck than that bird.”

“Don’t focus on that,” Stan said, gently kicking Ben in the face, “Focus on the bower. Focus on the  _ romance _ , Benjamin.”

“Yeah,” Richie said as a different species of bower bird did the deed, “The romance.”

“Richie, you have the stamina of a bower bird,” Mike rolled his eyes, “You don’t get to comment.”

Richie pouted, turning so Mike could see him. It was awkward with Eddie still sprawled out on top of Richie. “I knew watching a bird documentary would be a bad idea. I can’t believe I’m getting  _ bullied _ by the nerds who suggested it.”

“Call me a nerd again and I won’t top you for a month,” Mike said in what would be a threatening tone if he wasn’t on the verge of tears from trying not to laugh.

“That’s neglect!” Richie cried. Eddie grumbled at the noise, and Richie’s insistence on trying to talk with his hands through Eddie’s limbs.

So, yeah. Movie night was only about the movie for a few minutes at a time. The real reason was because they couldn’t stand going a full week without sitting down as a family and just  _ being _ .


	20. Coming Out. (Gen - T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW for internalized homophobia and some sexual language.

It was Bill who started it, because he was their leader and it was his job to start things, apparently. They were all sitting in the clubhouse during their junior year. Richie and Eddie were sharing the hammock again, unbelievably close. Richie was reading a comic and Eddie was daydreaming, waiting for Richie to finish so he could read the new issue of X-men. Mike and Ben were nose-deep in pre-calculus homework, because Mike, being new to public school, was  _ determined _ to be top of his class. Stan didn’t bother, even though he was in the same class, because he’d commandeered Bill’s sketchbook to doodle some hawks. Bev was smoking in her own little corner, victorious in her crusade to get her aunt to move back up to Derry.

Bill wasn’t trying to get his sketchbook back from Stan. He was thinking.

Then, in a moment of sheer adrenaline, he stood up and moved to the center of the room.

“Guh-guys?” Bill started, taking a deep breath and trying to rid himself of his stutter, “I--uh--I’ve been thinking.”

“Horrible idea, really,” Richie said effortlessly in a British accent that hadn’t improved at all since seventh grade.

Bill glared at Richie. “I--I--I nuh-know--I’ve been thinking. For a long time. Uh-uh-about things. And I ruh-realized, I’m guh-guh-guh--I like boys.”

Everyone’s head snapped over to look at Bill. Bill blinked, trying not to cry in the silence.

“Puh-puh-puh-please don’t huh-hate me,” Bill offered, quirking his lips up into a smile even as his chin trembled.

When Richie opened his mouth, Bill braced himself. “I thought I was the only one.”

Bill deflated, caught off guard. “What?”

“I--I didn’t want to tell you guys,” Richie breathed, “Because I thought I was different from you. And--and I didn’t want you to leave.”

“Me too,” Stan said, making them jump, “I… me too.”

“And me,” Mike spoke up, “I’m--I like boys too.”

“Is there anyone here who’s  _ not _ gay?” Richie laughed, glancing at Eddie. When Eddie laughed back, Richie let out a breath.

“It’s funny,” Bev took a drag from her cigarette, “You’re just about the only boys I like.”

Ben smiled. “I’m so glad I’m not alone.”

“Losers stick together, huh?” Stan said, like he’d been sitting on that joke for ages.

A silence fell over the group.

“That went a lot better than I thought it would,” Bill said, “But I don’t know what to do now.”

“We could make out,” Richie offered. Bill considered punching him in the face.

“Just go back to whatever it is you were doing, man,” Mike shrugged, already moving back to his pre-calc homework. This time, Ben pressed back into Mike’s chest, closer than they were before. Bill sat down next to Stan, who leaned into the touch and linked his left pinky with Bill’s.

Bill’s heart ached for some strange reason. He felt happy, of course. But he knew it wouldn’t last. Because they couldn’t take that information out of the clubhouse. Not now, and possibly not ever. They had each other, but that’s all they had. It was enough, but Bill cursed himself as he realized he wanted more.


	21. Recovery. (Stozier - M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW for flashbacks and panic attacks.
> 
> It's background poly losers but stozier is the only thing that like, actually happens

Stan didn’t quite know what to do when Richie showed up at his door, chest heaving.

“Do I need to help you hide a body?” Stan asked, only half-joking. Richie pushed his way in, sliding down the other side of the door and putting his head in his hands.

Stan crouched down next to him. “It’s okay--you’re okay, Richie, just tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m--I can’t breathe--” Richie said, looking dangerously close to passing out.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Stan murmured, brushing Richie’s hair out of his face, “Just… here, take one very deep breath in, okay?”

Richie nodded, and Stan led him in breathing slow and deep. When Richie calmed down, he groaned and rubbed at his eyes with his palms. “God, I’m such a wimp.”

“No,” Stan frowned, “You--really--you’re not. Is Eddie a wimp when he gets like this?”

Richie shook his head.

“You need to quit being so hard on yourself,” Stan gently pried Richie’s hands away from his face, “Or do I need to call Bev and have her drive out here and give you what for?”

“Can you play me something?” Richie asked, motioning to the upright with his head. Stan sighed, but smiled and brought them both to their feet.

Stan sat down at the piano. “I’ve been working on one of Chopin’s Waltzes.”

He started to play, hands moving over the keys smoothly and seamlessly. It was a little slow, and a little uneven, but Stan glanced over to see Richie in the chair pulled up beside the piano, and his eyes were closed, and he was swaying to the beat. There were a few tear tracks running down his face.

Stan finished the piece and Richie grinned wider. “That was gorgeous.”

Stan pursed his lips, trying to think of a response that wasn’t  _ no _ , or  _ I fucked up the chords _ . He was many things, but he was not a hypocrite. He settled on, “Thank you.”

It wasn’t often that Richie was soft and quiet like this. He must have been exhausted.

“I have vegetable soup in the crock pot,” Stan offered, “You came just in time for dinner.”

“I’d love some,” Richie said, following Stan into the kitchen. Stan ladelled out some soup for the both of them, settling at the table.

Richie burnt his tongue on the first three bites.

“I don’t know why I only seem to fall in love with idiots,” Stan rolled his eyes, “Bill did the same thing the last time he stayed the night.”

“How’s his tour going?” Richie asked, raising an eyebrow at Stan.

Stan sighed. “I miss him, but he’s doing much better than the last time he tried to leave the house for more than twelve hours. Hasn’t gotten himself in any tabloids for having a public meltdown yet.”

“That’s good,” Richie said softly, “It’s nice to see things getting better.”

Stan’s hand found its way to Richie’s. “You’re getting better too, Rich. Don’t let a bad day get in the way of that.”

“Stan--I had a flashback for the first time in a while,” Richie said, like he was admitting to a bad habit, “I--I was walking and--and I don’t know what happened but suddenly I felt like everyone was watching me and I--”

“It’s okay! It’s okay, Rich, it really is,” Stan squeezed Richie’s hands, “You’re a good person. You’re safe now. You don’t have to tell me, I can see how much it’s upsetting you. Why don’t we call it a night and go to bed?”

“But--”

“I’ll call Eddie and tell him you’re here for the night,” Stan promised, “You’d be doing me a huge favor.”

Richie nodded, breathing in deeply. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds really nice.”

Stan loved when Richie stayed the night, because he was warm and comforting and Stan could hold him the whole time and Richie wouldn’t mind.


	22. Making Out. (Bev/Richie/Eddie - M)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one borders on E but i don't think it's like _super_ explicit. there's some pretty unsexy dialogue about sex which is probably my strong suit when it comes to writing. anyway CW for sexual language and content and cw for what could be read as bi eddie? i really like richie/bev/eddie as a ship but it's the ONLY context in which bi eddie is acceptable. it's also background poly losers because this is me we're talking about
> 
> anyway bossy top bev rights

Bev straddled Richie’s waist, looping her arms around his shoulders. They had the house to themselves for the first time in a long time, and clearly Bev was going to take advantage of that. She looked down at Richie, playing with his hair for a moment and just observing him.

“What’s up?” Richie asked, hands at Bev’s waist.

Bev hummed, tilting Richie’s head back and kissing him. “The sky.”

Richie chuckled as Bev kissed down his jaw. “You’re just really feeling it today, huh?”

“You’re hotter when you stop talking,” Bev muttered, voice sounding a little harsher than it usually did. She tugged at Richie’s hair, which absolutely got him to stop talking. His mind went blank as she sucked a hickey into his neck.

Richie’s hands slipped under Bev’s shirt, which might have actually been Ben’s shirt, an old, ratty thing that was about three sizes too big. It looked cute on her, though, because everything looked cute on her. Her skin was warm to the touch, and soft, only wrinkled near the stretch marks on her hips. Bev ground down on Richie’s lap.

“God, keep whining like that,” Bev demanded, breathing a little heavier, “That’s hot as fuck, Rich.”

They kissed some more, Richie’s hands moving between Bev’s thighs and her waist. Richie tugged on Bev’s shirt.

“This needs to come off,” Richie said, “Need to see those puppies.”

“If you call my boobs  _ puppies _ one more time I’m never having sex with you again,” Bev laughed, pulling her shirt off over her head.

“Guys! What the fuck!” Eddie’s voice rang through the living room, and Bev and Richie jumped. Bev held her shirt protectively over herself.

“I sit on that couch!” Eddie said furiously, “I don’t need your…  _ juices _ all over it! Go do that in your own room!”

“Eds, not to dampen the mood, but Bill has definitely eaten your ass on that couch before,” Richie said, “In fact, I can name at  _ least _ five things  _ I _ have done to you on that couch that are probably more unsanitary than a little making out--”

“Ugh! You don’t have to bring that up!” Eddie threw his hands up into the air like it was  _ Richie’s _ fault Bill didn’t warn him when he was going to chow town on Eddie’s ass.

“Rich, let’s just take this to the bedroom,” Bev rolled her eyes, “It’s obvious that  _ some _ people don’t like to have fun around here.”

Eddie made a face at her, parroting what she said in a ridiculous voice. He stretched over by the entryway, which was when Richie realized he had just come back from a run.

“Oh, great, now he’s gonna be thinking about you the entire time we’re having sex,” Bev huffed, “C’mon, Eds, why don’t you just join us for a little fun?”

“If I must,” Eddie said, looking like he really didn’t mind at all. The three of them walked to Bev’s room and left the sheets sweaty and a little sticky and Eddie hadn’t minded at all.


	23. Magic AU. (Gen - G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's more of a superpowers au than a magic au but, y'know, it's explained by magic so

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's not really any CWs i think i need for this chapter? for a magic au it's pretty tame

“Guys?” Bev says, voice trembling. The rest of the losers run out of Mike’s barn to see Bev’s hands on fire.

“Bev! Holy shit,” Mike actually freaks out, and it’s the first time they’ve seen him get like this. He runs over to Bev and then… he stops.

“It’s not hot,” Mike says, dumbfounded. They all stand there for a while, staring at Bev’s hands, watching the flames move up. There’s sparks, there’s a bright yellow core. It looks like it should be hot. But, as if to prove a point, Mike sticks his hand all the way into the fire. It comes out clean and unburned, just as it was.

Bev clicks her tongue. “Well, it’s great that it’s not burning me, or anyone else, I guess, but my hands are _still on fire_ and I don’t know how to _stop it_ _guys help_ \--”

Ben comes forward, hands on Bev’s shoulders. “Let’s go to the lake and see if that helps.”

They march out to the lake, and Bev dunks her hands into the water. They go out with a plume of smoke, and everyone breathes a sigh of relief.

“Do you think this means It isn’t dead?” Eddie asks, taking a puff of his inhaler. The worry starts to circulate through everyone’s minds, and then Stan’s feet lift off the ground.

“Woah! Woah, woah,  _ woah what’s going on guys help guys _ \--” Stan begins to scream as he floats higher and higher. Bill and Richie sprint over to him and grab onto his ankles, straining to pull him back down. There’s no clear reason behind it, but everyone’s waiting for It to make an appearance, or for some explanation, but there’s nothing.

They spend the next few weeks in the clubhouse. Thank God it’s summer, and they can lie to Stan’s parents about why they’re acting so weird.

“I’ve come up with a hypothesis,” Mike says, while Bev keeps her hands in the pot they stole from Bill’s house.

“Lay it on us, Mikey,” Richie says from where he’s sitting on Stan’s lap.

Mike adjusts his shirt like he’s giving some sort of important presentation. “It’s the clown. Stan and Bev both touched the clown more than the rest of us--maybe there’s some sort of tolerance thing before weird shit starts to happen?”

“Obviously it’s the clown!” Stan cries, “But I can’t  _ go anywhere _ without taping rocks to the bottom of my shoes!”

“Maybe you can learn to control it,” Mike shrugs, “It’s worth a shot.”

Richie gets off Stan, and Stan floats up towards the ceiling of the clubhouse. He crosses his arms over his chest, and it would probably be intimidating if it wasn’t so funny.

“Stop floating, please,” Stan says, in a voice that betrays exactly how annoyed with the universe he is, “I would like to stop floating now.”

Nothing. Stan sighs.

“Try believing that you will stop floating,” Ben suggests.

“Excuse me?” Stan raises an eyebrow, turning around and staring at Ben.

“I mean, that’s the whole thing about this, is belief, isn’t it?” Ben points out, “You gotta  _ believe _ you can stop floating when you want to, or you won’t.”

Stan sighs again. “Fine. I’ll believe, or whatever.”

Stan takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes. Slowly, ever so slightly, he starts to fall back down to the ground. He gets about halfway, and then whatever had a hold on him lets go, and he slams into the earth full-force.

“Ow,” Stan says from the ground. Bev tries that too, and she lasts a full five hours without her hands bursting into flames or lightning bolts shooting out of her fingers. She does accidentally drop a pencil later in the day because her hands start  _ steaming _ , but it’s a work in progress.


	24. Kidfic (reddie - G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yeah, yeah, i fell behind again. don't @ me. anyway there are no CWs necessary for this fic!

It took three weeks for Richie to get another vision from the Turtle. He woke feeling well-rested, he wrote down what he had to do so he didn’t forget--he wouldn’t anyway--and he took Eddie out to dinner. That was step one of his plan, woo Eddie Kaspbrak after twenty-seven years and an experience that  _ could _ be classified as near-death.

Eddie didn’t mind. He divorced Myra without as much fuss as he thought there’d be (although there was still a considerable amount of  _ fuss _ ), and he and Richie were married within the year. So, then they went about the adoption process. Richie said the words the Turtle puts in his mouth, and it’s… difficult. For a country that regularly applauded itself for not being as homophobic as it could be, there were certainly plenty more hurdles for them to go through.

They got to meet their potential child after four grueling months of trying to work and then coming home to do  _ paperwork _ . And trying to get Richie Tozier to do paperwork was like pulling teeth. But the agency they were working with agreed to do a meeting at a neutral space in the agency itself,  _ finally _ . Eddie was starting to feel like he was going nuts.

“Hey, Macaroni Snackaroni!” Richie greeted, sitting down next to him. Mickey gave Richie a  _ look _ and went back to playing with his blocks.

“That’s not my name,” He said. Eddie fell in love instantly.

Eddie had a little trouble walking after they found him washed up in the Barrens, so he was wheelchair-bound most of the time he went outside. He maneuvered himself to sit next to Mickey. Mickey was a seven-year-old boy with hearing aids, a gigantic grin, and curly hair. He was perfect.

The visits continued. Richie got a Netflix special. Eddie stopped daydreaming about being done with paperwork and started daydreaming about Mickey coming home from school, about teaching him to play baseball, about letting him do all the kid things his mom never let him. Every day, Eddie would come home to Richie cooking him dinner (his learning curve was impressive, and he only gave Eddie indigestion once), kiss him on the cheek, and they would talk for a while. Then they would go to bed, with Eddie pressing kisses to the back of Richie’s shoulders until he heard him start to snore.

The day Mickey came home, the Losers all showed up to throw him a party. Stan brought Patty, too, since she had become an official Loser the day they all met her.

Mickey shied away from everyone except for Mike, which made sense, because Mike was about as threatening as a labrador retriever. 

The Turtle visited Richie again that night.

“Thank you,” Richie breathed, “He’s everything.”

_ You’re doing what you should have been doing all along, _ the Turtle gazed over Richie,  _ He will grow. You will still love him when you are old and aching. _

Richie nodded, tears in his eyes. “I will still love him when I am old and aching.”

Richie always had problems not cracking jokes when he was awake. There was something about this, though, that commanded his attention. He promised the Turtle something important, something he meant. He had no trouble keeping a straight face now. Being with the Turtle was something so close to prayer. He would make as many promises as he had to, because the Turtle brought him Eddie and Stan back, brought him the loves of his life. The Turtle had brought him everything.


	25. Christmas + Hurt/Comfort (Reddie - M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> two chapters in one! rated M for homophobic violence, babey! this follows eddie coming out to his extended family at christmas, and it goes just about as well as you'd expect. CW for the aforementioned homophobic violence, the f bomb (not the one that rhymes with duck, either), and descriptions of frostbite/hypothermia symptoms. also, good parents maggie and wentworth tozier, and even better boyfriend richie

Eddie hated this. This… feeling, of dread, of his mother’s family lining up behind the door one-by-one to pinch Eddie’s cheeks and tell him how much he’d grown. He was eighteen, he didn’t need that any more.

He was _determined_ , this time, to come out. He’d been going with Richie behind closed doors and in the dark and quiet and it was so unlike either of them and it made him want to cry. He _loved_ Richie. He didn’t want to have to keep that under wraps. He wanted to run, but he was too delicate, he wanted to play, but he was too sick. He wanted a life, but he was too… _Eddie_.

He smoothed his polo over his button-up and he marched down to the kitchen just as his mother’s sisters began to arrive. They were both married, although their husbands always put Eddie a little on edge. One was retired Army, the other was just… greasy. He had a look in his eyes that made Eddie want to throw up.

“Eddie, dear!” Francine squealed, squeezing Eddie. She pulled back and--yep--pinched his cheek, “How are you?”

“Fantastic,” Eddie said, trying to keep up his veneer of excitement, “Come in.”

“Is that Franny?” Eddie’s mom called from the kitchen. Fran walked into the kitchen, and through the door came her husband Dave. He was the retired Army, lumbering and still unnecessarily ripped. Their two little brats, both beanpoles that wore basketball shorts in the dead of winter, came through the front door too. Eddie did drop the facade for them, and they for him, passing glares back and forth that clearly said _I do not want this any more than you do_.

Being the gay cousin was exhausting.

The second family arrived, all three of them, and Eddie didn’t know how he was going to survive the weekend. They’d set up a guest room in the basement, but he’d be sharing his room with Jack, his surly, dark-haired, _greasy_ cousin. He was a walking replica of his father, beastly, with eyes that looked empty, if not angry.

Dinner was, thankfully, ready within the hour. Eddie had spent nearly the entire time setting the table, refusing help and denying his family the right to conversation. They all sat down to eat, his mother pulling out all the stops. While she wasn’t a very good person in most respects, Sonia Kaspbrak was an undeniable star chef. She had perfectly glazed ham, potato casserole that _oozed_ cheese, mashed potatoes, mac n’ cheese, salad that actually looked flavorful, and green beans, which had been cooked with sausage. It smelled good, it looked good, and Eddie decided he would eat before making _the announcement_ to ~~procrastinate~~ put them in a better mood and so he wouldn’t get kicked out before he could eat. He loaded his plate just like everyone else--the only good part about being a Kaspbrak was the food--and they ate until they were full. Eddie did his best not to join in on conversation, busying himself by stuffing his face.

Bea, his mom’s other sister, asked the fateful question. “So, are you seeing anyone right now, Eddie?”

“Like, professionally?” Eddie dodged the question, “About five of ‘em.”

This, at least, earned a solid laugh from the table.

“You know what she was asking,” Sonia said, in a tone that bordered on dangerous. Eddie cleared his throat.

“Actually, that’s--that’s something I wanted to talk about tonight,” Eddie said before he could stop himself, “I’ve been thinking for a long time, and I just wanted to be perfectly clear. I am still the same Eddie Kaspbrak you have known your entire lives. I still have the same interests, I still have the same life. I just need to say something. I’m gay.”

The motion at the table stopped. Liam (Eddie’s youngest cousin) coughed, and his Army-Uncle Whatever His Name Was’s fork clattered against his plate. Eddie sat there, waiting for the explosion.

“Edward Jonathan Kaspbrak, it’s Christmas,” His mom said, instead, “You spring this on us, on _Christmas_? I expected more from you, I expected you to behave, I expected a _polite_ and _decent_ son who could be--be _normal_ for one day!”

It’s less of an explosion, and more of a storm. It started off slow, but then his mom grabbed his shoulders and exiled him to the stairwell. “I think you should go to bed.”

Eddie looked up at her defiantly. “No, ma. I don’t think I will.”

“I kept a roof over your head for eighteen years, kept you fed, _loved you_ , and this is how you repay me?” Sonia wailed. Her sisters came to comfort her--because _she_ was the one who needed comforting. Everyone gathered in the living room, by the stairs. Eddie could sense something coming, but he wanted it. He _craved_ the lightning in the heart of the storm.

“I didn’t do anything to you!” Eddie shouted right back, “All you do is try to make me who you want me to be! Well, I’m not. I’m gay and I’ve fucked Richie Tozier, that dirty _boy_ you can’t stand, and I love him, and he and all my friends love _me_ , but you never did!”

“How _dare_ you?” It’s not Sonia who speaks, it’s Retired Army What’s His Face, “You show your mother some respect.”

“I’ll show her respect when she quits treating me like a pile of dog shit,” Eddie growled, turning to march up the stairs. To his horror, he found a strong, tough hand on his arm, refusing to let him go anywhere. 

“I’ll show you _dog shit_ ,” Dave said, and his fist connected with Eddie’s face. Eddie collapsed to the ground, clutching at his face, and there were some dull _thuds_ followed by excruciating pain striking down his side. For one giddy, magical moment, Eddie thought the lightning had finally come for him. Then Eddie realized Dave was kicking him with thick, heavy steel-toed boots.

His hearing went out, only ringing in his ears. He was cold. People were screaming at him.

“Up! Get up! Go!” Dave screamed, face red, and when Eddie stepped out into the cold, he and Jack followed. Eddie stumbled maybe five feet before tripping and landing in the snow, which soaked through his shirt. Something started hitting him anywhere it could land, his back, his legs, his shoulders.

A belt. It was a belt. Eddie shivered, howling in pain and cold.

“Stop! Stop, please, what are you doing?” Liam interjected, eyes bright with tears, “You’re going to kill him!”

“Better dead than a faggot,” Uncle Army spat, but he backed off, “Sonia, I’m sorry. I think I went a little overkill. Let’s leave him to cool down for a while.”

The door closed, and muffled voices disappeared into the house. The warm, loving house that was thirty feet away and also somehow on the other side of the world. Eddie picked himself up, fell, tried again, and made it to the door, scrambling at the doorknob. Either his fingers couldn’t grip it, or it was locked. He turned, letting out a harsh sob, and started walking towards the Toziers. His head _throbbed_.

They might not be home. They didn’t celebrate Christmas--well, they sort of did, but it was whenever Hanukkah was, and this year it was in early December--but at least Eddie could pretend they’d let him in. His fingers were growing stiffer by the minute, and he realized he wasn’t wearing shoes. His socks were wet.

Eddie felt a spark of hope. Their lights were on, there was a movie playing, he could _see_ them sitting on the couch together, eating takeout. Eddie could have cried. He didn’t, he needed to be warm again. He didn’t need to cry. Didn’t need to be weaker than he was. He didn’t even try to fight back, did he? Maybe he deserved to freeze.

He knocked on the door, but it was painfully quiet. Every time he rapped, he could feel tingles shoot up his arm, but eventually, Went got up to check the door.

“Who could possibly be out at this time of night, on…” He paused, looking down at Eddie, “Christmas.”

Eddie looked up at him. “ _Please_ ,” He begged, sobbing once, “Help me.”

Went pulled him inside. “Eddie, what happened? Are you hurt?”

Maggie gasped when she saw him, and Richie knocked over some lo mein in his haste to get to Eddie’s side. Eddie’s fingers and toes hurt even worse now, in the warm air.

“He’s in trouble,” Went said, “Mags, go heat up some water. Get some hot chocolate going, _separately_. He needs the hot water now. Rich, go get a change of clothes for him, and get some extra blankets.”

Went turned to Eddie, cupping his face in his hands and pulling him into a hug. Eddie was openly sobbing, now, the pain returning to him cruelly, his fingers and toes on fire.

“You’re okay, it’s going to be okay,” Went said, and Eddie was shocked when he pulled away to wipe the tears off his face. Went did the same for Eddie, _hot, hot_ fingers wiping Eddie’s face clean. Went closed the door and gingerly took Eddie’s button-up off.

He paused at the welts and bruises already forming on Eddie’s chest. “Who did this to you?”

Eddie tried to respond, he really did, but it got stuck in his throat.

“Rich, you mind helping him with the rest?” Went said, “I’ll go check on Mom, give you guys a bit of privacy.”

Richie’s eyes were full of worry, full of fear, and Eddie never wanted to see that look on his face ever again. He shook as he kissed Eddie, holding him close, against his burning chest.

“I’m so-sorry,” Eddie cried as Richie had to help him out of his socks and his slacks and even his underwear. His fingers didn’t have the dexterity to even save him his dignity.

Richie kissed his face all over. “It’s okay, my Spaghetti. You didn’t have to go through all this trouble just to get me to strip you, though. You coulda just asked.”

Eddie chuckled wetly, and Richie gave him a balance to help him into fresh underwear, fluffy pajama pants, and fluffy socks. He was also gifted a t-shirt and one of Richie’s hoodies. Went came form the kitchen with a pair of gloves and several blankets.

“Put these on,” He said, “Sit down on the couch, kiddo.”

Eddie did, wincing at his stiff legs and sore back. Richie layered blankets on top of him, and Maggie came back with some steaming hot water.

“The hot cocoa’s gonna be a minute, sweetheart,” She said, feeling Eddie’s forehead, “For now, though, we need to get your internal temperature up. Drink that, quick!”

Eddie did as he was told. He was always so good at taking his medicine. It burned on its way down, a shock to his system. He felt hot, then cold, then warm again, but pleasantly this time. Went took his temperature, and declared that he didn’t need to go to the hospital.

“Good work, team,” Went said, giving Richie and Maggie high-fives, “Now, about that hot cocoa?”

Maggie’s hot cocoa was delicious. Eddie was squished in between Richie and Maggie, with Richie’s hand sneaking under the blanket to hold Eddie’s. They were watching _Die Hard_ , with Went and Richie quoting every single line with scary precision. The movie ended, though, and the spell broke, and Maggie and Went looked at each other. Maggie got up from her spot on the couch and kneeled down in front of Eddie. He knew this trick--doctors would do this all the time so they weren’t _towering over him_ , when they would ask if his momma hurt him.

“Eddie, what happened tonight was really scary for all of us,” She said, holding the juncture of Eddie and Richie’s hands, “But especially for you. Can you tell us who did this to you, so we can make sure this never happens again?”

Eddie shook his head. “I--I came out to my family. One of my Uncles, he’s a retired Army guy, he beat me up. I--I had it coming, though. Provoked him.”

“Listen to me, sweetie,” Maggie rubbed over Eddie’s knuckles, “There is no excuse for him to hit you. Not like that. And there is _no_ excuse for them to leave you out in the cold.”

Eddie nodded, tears streaming down his face again. He hiccupped. Richie’s free hand came around Eddie’s shoulders, pulling him in closer.

“We love you, Eddie,” Maggie said, “We truly love you, and we never want to see anything bad happen to you. I just--I--”

Eddie had never seen Maggie cry before. It was horrible. She broke, cracked like plexiglass, like something that shouldn’t ever break, and Wentworth was there, by her side, rubbing her shoulders and letting her sob into his embrace.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie said again, but Richie shushed him.

Richie tilted Eddie’s chin towards him. “No. You don’t ever have to be sorry for this. It’s not your fault.”

They sat like that for a while, all crying, all unsure of what to say. Maggie stood up eventually, kissing Eddie’s forehead.

“I think next, I’ll prescribe some bedrest under warm covers,” Went said, “And a warm breakfast. And some warm hugs.”

“You’re a _dentist_ ,” Richie pointed out, “You can’t prescribe jack shit!”

“My powers have no limitations,” Went grinned, making his hands into claw shapes, “And for one bastard child, I might just prescribe… tickles!”

“Dad! Oh my God!” Richie screeched as Went dug his fingers into Richie’s sides, “This stopped being funny in the third grade!”

“Eddie, dear, we should have some bruise cream in the hall closet,” Maggie said, hauling Eddie to his feet, “Let’s go see what we can find.”

Eddie didn’t feel cold any more. He didn’t feel sad, he didn’t even feel angry. He realized, with a pang of _something_ deep in his chest, that he felt loved.


	26. Apologies. (Gen - M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oop, it's unresolved angst! CW for (graphic) child abuse, child neglect, and bill's parents being Not Good. might do a follow-up later

“Billy, I’m so sorry,” Georgie cried into Bill’s chest, “I lost it.”

Bill’s arm wrapped around Georgie’s shoulders. “It’s oh-oh-okay, Guh-Georgie.”

Bill said this, but he knew it wasn’t. Not because of the boat, not because Georgie came home trembling and sobbing like he’d had a nightmare. Bill had a feeling.

The feeling became a reality within the week. Bill woke up to Georgie’s frame climbing into bed, his parents in the middle of a screaming match in the hallway.

“‘M scared, Billy,” Georgie sniffled. Bill wrapped his arms around Georgie, anger welling up inside him.

His dad left that night. His mom never… cared for them. She fed them and housed them and kept the electric bill on, yes, but she never liked them. Bill’s dad, on the other hand, loved with a sort of fair-weather attitude, quick to shout and hit.

Without his pops, Bill’s mom fell off the wagon. Bill supposed she’d only stuck around for him to begin with, and now that he was gone. Well.

The first weekend after school started up again, Bill noticed there wasn’t any food in the fridge. He scrounged up some saltines and goldfish crackers from the pantry, gave three-quarters of it to Georgie, and spent the day with him up at the Hanlon farm. Mike’s parents were nice enough, always kept a warm meal on hand, but Mike had three brothers and a sister. Bill said Georgie just wanted to see the sheep, so they stayed for lunch and went back home.

“Where were you?” Bill’s mom said, from the kitchen. For a moment, Bill perked up. “Why isn’t there any food in the fridge.”

“I--I duh-duh-don’t nuh-know,” Bill stammered, “Yuh-you juh-juh-just--”

“Don’t take that tone of voice with me, young man!” Sharon Denbough walked out of the kitchen, hair matted in huge clumps on her head, eyes red and puffy. Bill pushed Georgie into the hallway, motioning for him to go to their room, “You have been nothing but dead weight in this house for almost fourteen years now, you’ve been a drain on me, physically, financially, and emotionally, and you blame  _ me _ for the empty fridge? If you hadn’t been born, everything would be better!”

Bill swallowed, backing up against the closed door. Sharon grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, towering over him,  _ staring _ him down. “Stuh-stuh-stuh-stuh-stuh--”

“Stop? You want me to  _ stop _ ?” Sharon laughed and Bill could smell the vodka on her breath, “After all you’ve  _ done _ to me, after all the diapers, after all the tantrums, the speech therapy that didn’t  _ work _ because  _ you _ could never try hard enough, after all the money I  _ wasted _ on you, I can do whatever I want to!”

Her hands were shaking, pressed so hard into Bill’s chest that he thought she might be drawing blood with her rings.

“Stop!” Georgie cried, his hands coming down on Sharon’s thighs, “Mommy, stop! You’re hurting him!”

Sharon slapped Bill across the face. “Get him under control, or he’s next.”

Bill scrambled to get Georgie into their bedroom. He felt like he was floating, far away from this. Felt like he was watching the whole thing on their television. He wasn’t crying, as soon as he locked the door, he sat down on his bed, stared at the wall, and tried to breathe.

He slammed back into his own body and he could hear Georgie crying. Bill walked over to Georgie’s bed, scooped him up, rocking him back and forth.

“I’m suh-suh-suh-sorry,” Bill whispered, kissing the top of Georgie’s head. Georgie clinged to Bill.

They had to get out.


	27. Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms (Bike - M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uh. so, yeah, MAJOR trigger warning for self-harm. seriously, it's not graphic in terms of material written, but if i was in a bad mood and i read this it would set me off so please be careful and think of your health first.

Bill knew it wasn’t like, good for him. He didn’t do it because he was angry, or because he hated himself, or because he wanted attention. Well, maybe it was all those things, but he didn’t want to admit it.

It was easy, that’s why he did it. Easy to hide, easy to keep to himself. He liked the feeling, there was just something about it that gave a sick sense of relief. Like he was finally in control of something, anything.

He didn’t ever let them become infected. He would always wrap them up carefully, gingerly, when he’d come down from whatever high it gave him. He didn’t think it was embarrassing. He didn’t ever try to  _ hide _ it, except when he started to. He didn’t know it was something to be ashamed of until he started kissing Mike Hanlon.

He thought he’d like for someone to know. For someone to kiss up his old scars and bandage his fresh ones. Maybe it was a saviorism thing. Maybe Bill just wanted to be taken care of. But when he was faced with the prospect of Mike--or, really, any of the Losers--knowing, he felt like he was going to throw up. Or pass out. Or throw up, pass out, and choke on his own puke. God, at least them the embarrassment would be short-lived.

So, when Mike kissed him after Senior Year homecoming, Bill had a panic attack. A real, actual, Eddie Kaspbrak-style panic  _ moment _ where his breath sped up and he couldn’t feel his fingers and he hugged Mike because that’s the only thing that made him feel better. Mike kissed him again, when he could breathe right, and he could finally  _ feel _ it again, how good it felt to be held.

It scared him shitless. If Mike kissed him, that would mean Mike wanted to do other things. What if he was disgusted by Bill? What if he was scared of him? What if…  _ what if he told the others _ .

Eddie would die. Eddie would keel over and die out of pure, unadulterated terror. Bev would never talk to him again. Or, worse, she’d  _ pity _ him.

Bill wanted to walk off the face of the earth. Now, it all felt like a big mistake, like he couldn’t see past the ten minutes when it felt good, like he was so selfish in the moment that he couldn’t think beyond the release of steam. Like he couldn’t see the clown on the other side of popping the balloon.

Bill tried. Maybe if he just… quit, then he could say they were old, from when Georgie first died. From when they first tried to climb back to the top of the food chain. But he was only strong when he knew he could be a hero. He was already weak, so what was one more? And if he could do one more, what was five? What was thirty?

He looked down at his arm, already done with it, already watching the blood pool in his sink. He sighed at himself, resting his other elbow on the edge of the countertop. He let out a sob, crashing down, feeling ungodly alone.

He stared at his phone. Mike was one phone call away. Or Richie--his parents were so nice. Stan’s dad would understand, in a sort of disappointing parent way, but maybe that was what Bill needed. Maybe he just needed someone to… he didn’t know. He didn’t know anything except how to put one foot in front of the other.

He did, then. He put one foot in front of the other, outside his own head. His hands trembled, and he felt like he was just on the wrong side of the ledge, just at the moment of jumping off the cliff. He couldn’t be alone any more. It was tantalizing, the thought of it. He picked up the phone and dialled Mike’s house.

“Hello? This is William Hanlon.”

“Hey, Muh-muh-muh-Mr. Hanlon. Cuh-cuh-cuh-cuh--”

“Do you want to speak to Mike?”

“Yuh-yes, s-s-s-sir.”

Bill winced.

“Are you okay, boy?”

“Fuh-fuh-fuh-fine,” Bill said, voice thin and watery. Fuck, he was losing it. He was falling.

“Bill? What’s wrong,” Mike’s voice said, sounding… bad. Sounding concerned, “My dad said something was wrong.”

“Cuh-cuh-cuh-cuh-- _ please _ ,” Bill sobbed.

“I’m coming over,” Mike said, and the line went dead. Bill lost it. He tumbled off the cliff, moved from the Fool to the Tower. He was making a mess of the counter.

The front door was unlocked. The front door was always unlocked, these days, because Bill’s parents didn’t care, and maybe if something important got stolen, they might. Mike knew this, he walked right in, he saw Bill on his knees in the kitchen, by the landline, weeping, and he crouched down beside him.

“Bill, what’s-- _ oh _ ,” Mike looked over at Bill’s arms, hand covering his mouth. Bill sat down all the way, drawing his arms in close to his chest.

Mike sat down, too, sobbing into his hand. Bill hated it, he didn’t want to see Mike like this, all broken up over Bill. He tried to speak, but nothing came out. Just a breath.

Mike reached for Bill’s arm, flinching because Bill flinched. They moved in tandem, Mike pulling Bill’s hand out, reaching up for a washcloth, and dabbing away at them. Bill hissed, closing his eyes.

Mike couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Bill watched, through the cracks, as Mike set his jaw and worked with gentle hands. Bill wondered if this was how he slaughtered sheep, all gentle and sad.

“I-I-I-I-I’m suh-suh-suh-suh--”

“William Frederick Denbrough,” Mike said through gritted teeth. Not angry, just… trying to keep everything under control, “Do not apologize to me.”

Bill snapped his mouth shut. Mike looked up, meeting his gaze, finally, and Bill could see the glisten on his cheeks where tears had fallen. Mike reached forward and grabbed Bill by the shoulders, bringing him in for a hug. Bill leaned into it, crying and crying. Mike rubbed his shoulders and cried too.

“You mean so much to me,” Mike admitted into the still kitchen air, “I hate this. I hate seeing you hurting. I love you, Billy-bee. Love you so much.”

Bill nodded, believing it because Mike never lied. His warm hands rubbed Bill’s back, and Mike bandaged him up and kissed his forehead when they went to bed and Bill wondered if it would be enough. He didn’t think Mike could save him, of course, but there was a little, annoying voice in the back of Bill’s brain. It sounded like Beverly.

_ He could give you the strength to save yourself. _


	28. Healthy Coping Mechanisms (Poly Losers - G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW for very brief mentions of anxiety (haha, sorry, it's been a while since i've posted something fluffy aldgadghdgjhas)

“Have you guys ever tried knitting?” Bev asked one morning, when she was tired of watching them pace around and stare into space.

They all looked at her like she was crazy. Which was fair, they were eating breakfast, and the topic of conversation had been Eddie’s job promotion.

“No?” Stan spoke up. Bev let the conversation die, but she had that look about her that scared everyone shitless.

So, naturally, they weren’t  _ not _ suspecting it when Bev called an emergency family meeting and handed everyone a pair of needles.

“These are dangerous,” Richie observed, tilting the large, metal needle around.

Bev pointed her own needles at Richie threateningly. “Don’t poke an eye out.”

“No promises.”

Eddie got up and sat next to Bill. They were in the living room, with Bev in front of the TV in a desk chair. She threw everyone a skein of yarn.

“The first thing you need to learn how to do is make a slip knot,” Bev said, demonstrating to everyone. They watched her, but her fingers were quick and dexterous, and the knot took about five milliseconds.

Stan, of course, already knew how because he was a boy scout, but Richie had dropped scouting before he got to the whole knots thing. Bev watched everyone struggle to make the knot.

“What’s the goddamn point of this?” Eddie asked, throwing his third unsuccessful slip knot across the room with a scowl.

Bev scowled right back. “The point is stress relief, dipshit. It’s good for you.”

“I’m not relieved! I’m very much not relieved right now!” Eddie protested as Bev handed him back a tight, perfect slip knot.

“Now, we’re going to chain a row,” Bev said, and they continued in a similar manner until everyone had made a washcloth. Well, Stan made a washcloth. Everyone else’s could barely be called fabric.

“You all did great,” Bev smiled, bright like the sun, and they all knew they were fucked. “Let’s do this again sometime.”

The next week--Tuesday had become Losers Knit Day on their Google Calendar--Bev appeared with a strange tool and some wool for Eddie.

“You seemed a little frustrated by the knitting, but I think this might be more up your alley,” Bev said, handing him the tools, “Needle felting. That needle has special barbs, so when it goes into the wool, the fibers get twisted together. You can make little sculptures with it. Go nuts.”

Eddie took the needle suspiciously, holding it up to the light. “This can’t be safe.”

“It’s clean,” Bev rolled her eyes, “You probably won’t even stab yourself hard enough to break skin, but I wiped it down with alcohol before you got home today.”

Eddie grumbled, but started to work on the wool. Bev smiled at him, and he relaxed slowly, engrossing himself in the motions.

And, slowly, it did start to become their  _ thing _ . They all latched onto it, and Bev started using the time to sew, because she always preferred sewing to other textile art. Eddie really ran with needle felting, his works getting more and more elaborate. Ben started quilting and embroidery at Bev’s request, Richie started crocheting, Mike painted, and Bill picked up sketching again. But Stan knitted. Tuesday, Losers Knit Day, was a time when they didn’t have to think about anything they didn’t want to. It leaked out into the other days of the week, when they felt the old fear creeping up their backs, they just went back to knitting, or whatever it is they did, and the fear left them because all they focused on were the way their hands moved.


	29. Making Up. (Stanpat - T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW for brief mentions of Stan's suicide attempt.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Patty said, shutting the cupboard doors with a little more force than was strictly necessary. She had the phone on speaker, she knew Stan could hear it. “You… you try to kill yourself, then you run off for a--a whole  _ week _ , leaving for God knows where, and you don’t even tell me you checked yourself out of the hospital! God, Stan, I was--I was so  _ worried _ .”

Patty let out a sob, all the anger draining from her.

“Pats,” Stan sighed, “You wouldn’t--you wouldn’t get it.”

“I wouldn’t get what, Stan?” Patty asked, desperate, clutching at straws, “I’ve loved you for thirteen years. There is absolutely nothing I wouldn’t help you through, no matter what it is. Just let me help you,  _ please _ .”

Still, paranoia clutched at her mind. What if Stan was having an affair? What if he was sick? What if he was  _ really _ sick? What if he didn’t love her back any more?

“I’m--I’m very far away right now,” Stan said, relenting, “In Maine. Small town outside of Bangor, where I grew up. I’m with friends.”

Patty let out a breath, shakily, into her hand. “Do you want me to come up?” She would, even though her chest still felt too tight and she wanted to take back the last two weeks and live where everything was still okay.

“Babylove,” Stan murmured, so soft it made Patty  _ ache _ , “I would love nothing more in all the world.”

Patty was on the next flight up. She picked up a rental car and drove all the way to Derry, where she had to walk because most of the roads were closed off, yellow tape stretched across craters and burst lines.

“What happened here?” Patty asked, mostly to herself, but the look of uncertainty the officer gave her didn’t help put her at ease.

_ Townhouse _ , she remembered, and she was there in the longest ten minute power-walk of her life. She did not bother checking in, barrelling straight past the clerk and into the lobby. Her anger, her anxiety, her  _ fear _ did not fade until she saw him. When she did, it rolled off her in waves, leaving her trembling and small.

There he was, alive and well. He looked like he’d showered recently, his arms were bandaged--they looked professionally done--and he looked at her like she hung the stars. Patty hugged him and sobbed, and he cried too. They hugged, pressed together so tight it hurt, but it was the only thing keeping them from losing it altogether.

“Is this Patty?” A voice asked, and Patty looked over Stan’s shoulder to see people standing there, almost a full crowd.

“I’m so sorry, Babylove,” Stan murmured, ignoring them, “For everything. For keeping you in the dark, for leaving, for… for.”

“It’s okay,” Patty said, shuddering with the force of her tears, “I forgive you.”

They cried and hugged some more, before Patty asked, “Who are those people?”

“These are the friends I was talking about,” Stan said, “Bill, Bev, Ben, Richie, and Mike. Eddie’s still in the hospital.”

Patty gave them all hugs, finding them all warm and soft. “Thank you for keeping him safe.”

“Thank  _ you _ ,” Mike said, pulling her in for another, “You kept him safe for far longer than we ever did. Twenty-seven years, and the majority of that weight fell on you.”

Patty shook her head. “Those were the best years of my life. He’s the one who did all the work, kept me sane.”

“Don’t discredit yourself,” Mike assured her, “He’s a handful.”

Stan protested, but Mike grinned, and it was so wide and bright that Patty felt like she always knew these people.


	30. New Year's Kiss. (Poly Losers - T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is SO fucking sad bro. i'm not even joking it's so sad. CW for mentions of child abuse/neglect. happy new year!

New Year’s in Derry wasn’t different from anywhere else. The kids all piled into the Hanlon’s barn, the empty old one full of rusting, dying farm equipment. They’d go treasure hunting in there sometimes, pulling up relics from the farm’s past, from the town’s history.

Those kids had reputations. They were soft with one another, all caresses and forehead kisses, because their parents… well, their parents weren’t. Even the Kaspbrak boy, who hated being called small or delicate, was soft with those kids. His gaze turned to them and became all soft edges and little smiles, big eyes and freckles. It was easy to see why Sonia kept him hidden away, tried to keep him under her thumb. He was like one of those puppies you get for Christmas, the ones that quickly outgrow your twelve-year-old’s patience. Eddie couldn’t be brought back to the pound, though, so he got drunk at the old Hanlon barn in the middle of nowhere, where he could scream and run and nobody would stop him.

The Marsh girl supplied them with alcohol. She was a charmer, but the only boys she ever fell for in return were those boys. The only ones who didn’t treat her like anything but something to be cherished. The only ones who didn’t suffocate her. The ones who lifted her up, higher and higher and higher, away from the clutches of Al Marsh, away from the stares and the sneers that awaited girls in that town. Bev loved them, unendingly, with the fire that nobody else could see in her. They all knew that she was their core, the thing they twisted around and bent to. She was the moon, and they all were the tide, and the crops, and the people that worshipped her.

The Denbrough boy soaked up all the attention he could get. Never got any at home, not since his brother, well. You know. He got the most drunk, the quickest, and threw up in the bushes, then drank some more to get the taste out of his mouth. He never was the same, after that summer. It’s a shame, seeing bright children go to waste like that. He could write, though. Where the others could see things effortlessly, like the way the branches of a tree could weave together to make a roof, he saw words. He saw stories, or he had them in his chest. They brought him up to the stars, too, because they were the only ones who would pick them for him like apples from a tree. It’d be easy, for them, if they did it at his request. They would do anything for him. Well, they’d do anything for each other. But they followed Bill wherever he went, wherever he wandered, no matter how dangerous or doomed or ill-conceived. 

Hanscom, that kid with the single mother, he was never outspoken. He was always quiet, always last place, but he worked hard. He was earnest, he was kind, and gentle, and everything none of the others ever expected a man to be. They all knew men as filthy, snarling beasts with slurs on the tips of their tongue, but Ben held their hands and rubbed their shoulders and wrote them poems, got them flowers. Never raised his voice at them, or hit them, always asked before he kissed and kept secrets as faithfully as a dog. He ran with Eddie, both of them trying to outrun something they never could. He rarely got as excited, as hyper as Eddie, but they were both dancing in circles around the other Losers in the frigid December air, howling to the wind. Successfully outrunning whatever they were trying to, at least for the night.

Tozier howled too, something wild overcoming him as the cycle worked closer to the ending and then, the beginning. He didn’t run, too long-limbed to be any good at it. His glasses had been long-lost, he was too drunk to really know the difference anyway. They--the kids--mellowed him out, ran his energy thin. Mike’s hand on his arm, a sideways glance from Bev, a kiss from Eddie were the only things that ever got him to stop talking. He danced, though, with the Marsh girl, breathless and pressed together. He was all straight lines, physically, but everything else about him was crooked and looped and broken. He’d crash and spend the night in the center of the circle, the way those kids slept together, pressed against one another, holding someone in the middle. Richie would be the one tonight, after he started gasping from cold and everyone realized he was crying.

Uris was curled up against Hanlon, on top of a pile of filthy hay with a blanket laid over top. They were mellow, watching with half-open eyes as the others danced and sang and screamed. Stan wasn’t usually calm, but there was something about the others that made him think it would all be okay. He was all nerves, afraid of his own shadow. Who knows--maybe he did have something real to fear. His father never seemed to think so, but Stan knew better. There were plenty of things to be afraid of when he wasn’t pressed up against Mike, when he wasn’t watching Eddie and Ben chase each other with sparklers. He had so much to fear. Eddie’s mom, and Bev’s future, when she’d be pulled from the town like a healthy tooth from a mouth. Richie’s instability, Ben’s insecurity. Bill’s neglect. When they were worried, they came to Stan, because Stan would tell them everything would be okay in the most certain of terms, even when Stan didn’t believe it himself.

Mike was the thing that kept them all together. If Bev was the core, Mike was the gravity holding everything to the core, keeping them packed so tightly together that nobody could pry them apart. He was the warmest, so when they were cold, they would reach out and ask for his hands against their fingers, their nose, their ears. Mike would oblige, in return for a kiss. They wouldn’t hesitate to deliver. Mike hated to see things in pain. He hated the screaming of the newborn calf, the one with the birth defect where it looked so sickly they had to kill it. He hated the sound of the sobbing. Richie’s crying, saying they’d all have to leave eventually, that they’d forget. Mike knew they would--that’s the thing about Derry. No matter how hard you tried, no matter how you wrote it down or catalogued it, you’d forget. Derry wasn’t on any maps or travel guides. Nobody who left Derry ever came back, unless they came for a funeral. There were no hospitals in Derry, no wedding venues. The only reason to come back, the only reason to remember, was at a wake, as they lowered the body into the ground.

Richie didn’t want to forget. He didn’t want to be alone again, he didn’t want to have to start fresh, even if he was still sporting a black eye from the last time Bowers’ cronies played  _ Smear the Queer _ . He wanted to curl up in the hay, with Bev spooning him and petting his hair, he wanted to die like that. Wanted to feel Mike’s calloused hands on his face forever.

“I can’t forget,” Richie begged, “There has to be some way to remember.”

The radio was on in the background, announcing the start of the New Year. The last year the Losers would be in high school, the last year they’d have together before the Forgetting. Mike dreaded it, more than anything in the world. He’d never felt his chest seize up like the thought of the Losers leaving. They’d forget him, they’d move on. The clown had promised them happy lives if they left. Mike wouldn’t. There was no future for him outside of Derry. He could feel the others revving up to leave, almost as if they were enticed by the Forgetting.

Three minutes to midnight, and they were still around Richie, placating him with empty promises. They knew they wouldn’t keep them. They’d made a promise, and for the promise to work someone had to stay, and Stan had been accepted to Georgia State and Bev had gotten into some fancy fashion design school in Upstate New York, and Mike had nothing. Mike had an ailing grandfather and a failing farm and no more cattle.

Richie was inconsolable. He went to the one person who didn’t know how to lie. “Ben, will you stay? Please? With me, we don’t have to stay here, we can go anywhere, we can--”

“Richie,” Ben said, with sad eyes, with the gentle hands and kind words. That’s all he said. He couldn’t lie, so he didn’t. He didn’t say anything, just tried to keep the lump in his throat from turning into something more. He didn’t know whether sobs or words would be more mortifying.

Sixty seconds.

They moved closer, a few blankets covering them, encasing them in the warmth of an embrace.

Richie begged and begged, like he was hurting. Mike imagined this is what the sheep sounded like before he put a bullet through their brain. He pleaded, hands twisting in the front of Mike’s shirt. Bev was crying, too, her face pressed to the back of Richie’s head.

When the buzzer went off, Mike surged forward to kiss him. Richie tasted like tears, like alcohol, and Mike let out a sob into Richie’s mouth. The future was so rocky, so uncertain, so unstable it felt like crumbling earth. Like they were on a cliff face, about to tumble into the sea.

“Rich,” Stan said, rubbing Richie’s calf, “You know we can’t--we can’t stay together. We’d forget, we’d drift. It’d hurt less to just leave. We have right now, though. I love you so much, Rich, it hurts to think about it too much.”

Richie shuddered, burying his face in the crook of Mike’s neck. The knowledge felt too heavy, it weighed down their shoulders. Mike could feel Eddie sit down next to him, finally run all the way down to his bones.

“Mikey,” Eddie said, a tremble in his voice, “I don’t want to leave.”

Eddie was brave. He’d resisted, he’d all but run away in his attempt to get his mother to stay in the town. He’d faltered, though. He wasn’t a coward any more than the rest of them, but he’d caved, he’d let his mother drag him out to NYC. Ben was moving away, too, and Bev and Stan and…

Mike let out a sound that could have been a sob, but was closer to a wail. He hated it, feeling so vulnerable, so open.

“I love you,” Ben said, in lieu of Mike, “More than anything, Eddie, I love all of you.”

Eddie’s back was pressed up against Mike’s, solid and not delicate at all. He’d filled out, after the first few weeks of letting his lungs expand all the way, of letting himself breathe and run and scream.

“Happy New Year,” Bill muttered, bitter and quiet and angry. He was, more than anyone, angry. At his parents, his teachers, himself. At that stupid  _ fucking _ clown. But he could never be angry at them, and he let out a sigh, Stan caressing his shoulders. He relaxed into Stan’s touch. They cried together, they all cried, they all mourned, grieved for what that clown had done to them, even if he hadn’t killed them. He’d stapled them together by the palms of their hands and then he ripped them apart, tearing them from one another like an arm from a shoulder.

They loved so hard that it would kill them to leave, for the days, for the hours they remembered. They knew, they knew it was coming and there was no way out because they were all just scared kids, still trying to survive, still trying to put one foot in front of the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugh, it's the end of ficmas and the end of a decade. find me at bevpegs on tumblr and blease leave a comment if you enjoyed!


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